The Other Eyes Saga
by Freida Right
Summary: Previously a lovely series of oneshots, now converted into a convenient chapter story. Various plot hole-filled scenes from the movie, through the eyes of a relevant character. Ignore the fact that that 8 is distinctly missing from this line-up... 0.o
1. First Day

Thus commences the grand experiment. _The Other Eyes Saga_ is basically the movie, but with different scenes written through the pov's of the other characters. We've started with the twins, because they're awesome.

This first chapter was penned in September, 2010, As mentioned previously in the summary, each chapter you see was originally a oneshot to itself. But then I realized that EVERYONE had read 7's chapter (which happens to come last), and EVERYONE had read the twin's chapter (this one, the first), and NO ONE had read any of the others.

So I figured, if I made a whole _thing_ out of it, with 7's chapter at the end where it went anyway, people would have no choice but to wade through the artistry and mastery that is _Dying Day, First Night, Red Day, and Day Break_.

If you've already read _First Day_ and _Day's End_, feel free to review again. If not-MUAHAHAHAHAHA! You'll have to read **_ALL_**ze chapters to get to 7 this time! 8D

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_First Day_

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3 and 4's day had started out like any other in the library. It was empty and quiet, all their time taken up by their constant, almost feverish studying and cataloging. It kept them busy enough during the long days, and it gave them some vague purpose, something to wake up in the morning for. It wasn't the most exciting occupation in the world, but excitement wasn't really what they were looking for.

As usual, 7—for all intents and purposes, their mother—had ventured out into the emptiness to hunt; she wasn't even there when the shy, skittish twins woke up that morning. Her vendetta against the Beast knew no bounds, and she was determined to destroy it before it destroyed her or anyone else. She had been waging this war against the Beast for about three years now, and they had both won victories against each other, but 7 hadn't killed it yet. Her battle gave her the same sense of purpose that studying and cataloging gave the twins. So while it meant that their mother was gone for most of the day, they didn't argue. _Someone_ needed to put an end to that thing; and with a strong, brave warrior like 7 living in the same building, the twins felt very safe and secure.

Something had given 7 a good feeling about this week, as far as the Beast was concerned. She felt sure that this was the week that the thing would finally fall, though she had no idea why. Thus, she had left earlier than usual every morning this week and been out until long after dark. She was so sure of herself this week, she hadn't even had time to feel torn between being so close to her goal and leaving her children alone in the library for so long.

But then, that was proud, stubborn 7. The twins were kind of used to it, and they couldn't help but love it as much as they loved the rest of her.

So 3 and 4 had been alone all day—again—engrossed in their work. It wasn't particularly enjoyable work; in fact, it was pretty grim. They were compiling a scrapbook containing all of information they had found in the library on the war against the Machine—the war which had torn the city apart so many years before and indirectly robbed them both of their voices, and which 7 was carrying on in her own way. What clippings from newspapers or torn out pages from books they couldn't fit in their book, 3 conveniently recorded with his photographic memory; 4 had hours of news reels recorded in her head, and had the ability to project the film onto walls. But they were both starting to get a little tired of studying the war; it was totally disheartening and depressing. But they wanted to know exactly what had happened and why; and, after three years of hard work, they were so close to the end. So they continued.

The morning was peaceful and quiet. Early in the afternoon they heard the winds pick up outside as a dust storm buffeted the outside walls. The sound of the wind whistling through cracks in the walls was creepy, but they were safe inside and didn't worry too much about it; these frequent dust storms didn't last more than an hour or two, and the winds did indeed subsided after a while. Although they did hope that 7 was okay; getting caught in dust storms was dangerous, and 7's better judgment tended to shut off when she was focused on her quarry.

Not too long after the winds subsided, a new sound rumbled across the land and crept into the cavernous, echoing library. It was like far away thunder, or maybe an earthquake. And it gave the twins a distinct feeling of terrifying nostalgia, for they had heard it many years before.

"_It's like gears spinning,"_ 4 recalled in the strange flickering language they shared.

"_It sounds like metal,"_ 3 added.

"_Like machines,"_ the concluded in unison, as twins often do, and they both shivered with fear.

"_Hope that 7's okay,"_ 3 fretted, his thumb involuntarily rising to his mouth. His sister took his hand and returned it to his side.

"_She knows what she's doing. She'll be okay. I'm sure she will,"_ 4 insisted hopefully.

The afternoon dragged on, and the twins worked on in uneasy silence, praying that 7 would return soon with some kind of explanation for the sound of war machines outside. Then finally, about the time was sun was starting to set outside, they heard a blessedly familiar voice echo through the building:

"Keep up," it called to no one in particular—or so they thought.

"_She's home!"_ 3 cheered and dashed off, with 4 right behind him. They were up on a high bookshelf, but they had all kinds of scaffolding and riggings set up so they could get around easily. It was a small acrobatic act that they had memorized of a rope, a crudely constructed ladder, and several steps made of precariously stacked books—it took them straight to the ground, and they landed with the ease of practice, barley making a sound. They headed off to where they kept their scrapbook, the first place they figured 7 would look for them.

They came from behind to discover that 7 had beaten them there, and also that they had foolishly left a candle burning while they had been away, just begging to catch something in their messy, cluttered study on fire and burn the building down. The space was well-illuminated by the candle light though they knew they would probably get in trouble for it later. But they were too happy that their mother was home safe to worry about that too much.

"_7! You're back!"_ 3 said happily, poking his head around the candlestick.

"_Are you okay?"_ 4 asked, looking around the other side.

There was 7, of course, her sparrow-skull helmet up so they could see her face, and a spear in one hand. But to their surprise she wasn't alone today—she had two others with her. And one of them, to their utter joy, was their dear one-eyed friend 5, who they hadn't seen in years. He gasped when he saw them, just as surprised and happy to see them, and the three ran to meet each other.

"They've been _here_?" 5 asked 7. "The whole time?"

The twins had no words, even in their flicker-speak. They had been separated from the others for close to four years; seeing 5 again was so strange, but in a wonderful way. They both had a million questions they suddenly wanted to ask him about the others, but they were too overcome to ask any of them. 3 finally found his voice again in the for laugh when 5 patted him on the head.

They had missed their family, certainly. But they hadn't realized just how much until now.

"Twins!"

3 and 4 looked over at the stranger, largely unnoticed until just now; shy as ever, they skittered behind 7 and 5 while they got a better look at him. He and 5 might have been twins themselves, except both his eyes were intact and he had a shiny zipper on his front. In one hand he carried a long stick with a glowing orb on one end. And there was something about him made him seem overly curious to them. After a moment, their own curiosity overpowered their shyness and they ran over to examine their guest.

"They've been hiding here," 7 explained sort of sadly to him, "lost in the past, looking for answers."

The twins had no time to object to that statement; they were too busy cataloging every inch of his top half that they could.

"_Look, 4, his name is 9," _3 announced to his sister, having found the tell-tale number that each of them carried.

"_He's made of burlap, so he __must__ be smart; all the smart ones are made of burlap,"_ added 4.

"_He doesn't seem very strong, though, sis."_

"_Or particularly fast."_

"_He's got clever-looking eyes, though,"_ 3 noticed, flickering right into 9's eyes and stunning him briefly.

"_Yeah, but he's all soft and squishy inside,"_ 4 countered, poking 9's stomach and making their already fuddled guest yelp. Partially forgotten to one side, 5 and 7 started laughing at their antics.

"They're cataloging," 7 explained, still amused.

4 took one of 9's hands and paused to admire before objectively examining it. His fingers were bright, time-tarnished copper—real copper, unlike the alloy used in coins she had seen. Each expertly crafted digit was fixed to a piece of hand-carved wood—oak, if she had to guess—with a thick, long lifeline across his palm.

9's hands weren't much different from the rest of them—with the exception of 6, who's eight fingers were all pen nibs. But his hands were by far more expensive, and they seemed newer despite their tarnish. His fingers weren't picked or worn from years of struggling to survive, his wooden palms weren't splintered from use, and they had certainly never been sanded or filed before.4 started fiddling with each of his perfect fingers, suddenly feeling much younger and babyish than she was.

"_His hands are nice,"_ she mused quietly. _"I like them."_

3 was taken up examining the glowing orb in 9's other hand. It was rigged to one end of what used to be a spear, the blade removed and replace with the bottom of a candle holder, and the orb sitting on it in place of an actual candle stick. He tapped the side, nudging it ever so slightly, and the light went out. The thread-like filaments within became much more obvious in his flickering eye-light.

"_Oh! It's a light bulb!"_ 3 realized. _"I've never seen one intact before."_

"_Really? Let me see,"_ 4 insisted.

Seeing their obvious interest, 9 let 3 unscrew the light bulb from its place to get a better look. He took a few steps away and help it up so he could see it better.

"_3, let me look at it,"_ 4 commanded and skittered over beside her brother to try and see as well.

"_It's here; look at it,"_ 3 retorted, yanking it away as she tried to snatch it, but she caught it anyway.

"_Hold it still; I can't see it."_

"_Stop pulling at it; you'll break it."_

"_I can't believe how perfect it is,"_ 4 said, tapping the hard, shiny glass. _"Unbroken and everything."_

"_And still working. This must be our lucky day! Look at the filaments; they look like thread or hair or—"_

"You guys."

3 and 4 looked back up from the light bulb to acknowledge 7, but they were slightly surprised by her serious tone of voice. Everyone had been so happy a moment ago. Why the change in mood?

"We've… awoken something—" 7 began, but 9 interrupted her.

"No, _I've_ awoken something," he corrected. "Something terrible."

So it wasn't a big family reunion. Something was up, and they had come here for answers—something which the twins had in abundance.

"_Something terrible?"_ they said in unison.

"_There's a lot of terrible stuff left in the world; where should we look?"_ 4 wondered.

"_Let's start with the scrapbook,"_ 3 suggested. _"We've got plenty of terrible stuff in there."_

"_Oh, good idea,_" 4 agreed and they skittered back to the book. As they ran by, 3 replaced the light bulb in 9's light stick, though he sort of slammed it in and nearly broke it without meaning to. They both moved with a speed and an ease in that speed that none of the others could achieve, and they often forgot their own strengths. Nevertheless, the bulb lit up once again, still whole and adding its light to the room, while the twins flipped through the pages in their scrapbook.

The pages were very familiar to them by now. They contained all the stories they had found of the war, in order by the dates of the newspapers. Going deeper into the pages of their book one could see how the world had unraveled at the hands of the amazing technology the humans had created, technology they had conveniently forgotten to make a remote control or joystick or any sort of thing for. Flipping backward through it was strange; it was like watching the world start from utter chaos and evolve into something that made sense or was at least attractive.

But they had no time to pay attention to that; right now they had to find whatever it was that 7, 5 and 9 were so concerned about. They continued turning the pages, passing technological catastrophe after catastrophe, waiting for someone to tell them to stop. For a minute or two they continued in silence, and they weren't surprised. They knew all the monsters in the book, and they had a bad feeling that they knew where they would end up. They turned another page and—

"That's it," 9 exclaimed when he saw the picture. It was just as the twins had feared: it was the Machine.

As terrifying as it was to think that the Machine was awake once again, there was still informing to be done. All the important pages were marked with a cord down the center, and all the cords were attached to a bookshelf up above where they kept miscellaneous information on each subject that couldn't go in the book. 3 tugged on the cord and pulled it taut, revealing the space where they kept stuff about the Machine—it was a higher shelf, one at the very top. Now that their destination was marked, it was time for them to all take a ride on their homemade elevator.

The elevator was a jumble of gears, pulleys, ropes (or for our size, thick upholstery thread) and a large-headed spoon set on an axle and caused to spin upwards when a lever was pushed. 3 and 4 had built it together, almost completely by themselves, aided only by books on simple machines and what little knowledge of basic physics they had learned from 2 many years before. The elevator had taken them a full year to construct, and another several months to perfect; they had only been able to use it reliably for the past six months. But it proved an invaluable convenience, and they were incredibly proud of it.

"_Climb on,"_ 3 insisted when the newcomers hesitated. The use of an elevator had jaded 7; she happily and gratefully used it all the time and got right on, prompting her one-eyed brother and the intriguing stranger to follow suit. 4 took control of the lever, pushing it out and making the spoon begin to spiral upward toward the top shelves.

While she and her family were used to it and usually didn't think much about it, 5 and 9 were both clearly impressed by the ingenuity of the device. The cleverly crafted light bulb-stick paled with humiliation and contempt beside it. After rising about eight feet in the air—taller than if all nine of them had stood on each others shoulders—4 brought the elevator to a halt and prompted everyone to exit the vehicle in an orderly fashion.

The shelves below were simply things that the twins had been meaning to go through and hadn't found the time yet. The higher shelves, like the one they had come to, were reserved for artifacts they found, and these were much more interesting to look at. It was like a small museum: there were black-and-white pictures of platoons of men in military uniforms, models of airplanes and tanks, many bullet shells—some which still had bullets in them—and even a bunch of tarnished, abused medals. As they walked around, looking at all the neat things the twins had collected, 9 shone the light from his light staff into every corner, soaking up every detail they had hidden. But it still didn't seem to answer the questions he was asking.

"_Um… Here,"_ 4 said helpfully, turning to face an empty wall. _"Maybe this will explain a little better."_

Knowing how using her projector sapped his sister of her strength, 3 ran up beside 4 and held her by the shoulders while she cast a series of newsreels on the wall. It was standard fare, and it explained everything that had happened over the last 10 or so years. The brilliant scientist, the power-hungry chancellor of the state, the incredible Machine, the loss of control over it, and the destruction of the entire civilized world because of it. They had seen this newsreel many times before and it no longer bothered them much; but 9 watched the whole thing with the same look of utter horror as they had on their first time seeing it.

_And it's not just a thing anymore,_ 3 realized, thinking to himself. _It's back now._

Finally the reel ended and 4's projector shut off automatically with several painful sounding clicks. Dizzy, she stumbled back into her brother's arms and blinked rapidly, trying to clear the stars from her vision. 3 watched the three adults to see what they would do. The same expression was painted on all their faces: total devastation. _Oh my God, what have I done?_

Well, that question was answered. But 9 had plenty more for them.

"The thing that woke it," 9 said to them, "it was round, and imprinted with strange shapes."

"_Round…?"_

"_Strange shapes, you say…?"_

"_Um…"_

"_Uh…"_

They recalled everything they had ever cataloged on the war, but they couldn't think of anything matching 9's description. They had nothing to answer him with but an unhelpful shrug—in unison, of course.

Not to be discouraged, 9 picked up a nearby pen and simply drew a rough sketch on the wall. To the twin's surprise, the picture looked vaguely familiar; but they couldn't remember where they had seen it before.

"The marks corresponded," 9 explained as he worked, "as if they were made for it."

As he finished and stepped back, 5 gasped again. "That's what 6 always draws," he said.

"6…?"

Oh, _that's_ where they remembered it from. 6 would sit for hours in a corner, drawing something that looked like that over and over and over again. Of course, having pen nibs for fingers, his pictures were much better…

"2 had collected his drawings," 5 explained. "He was always studying them."

9 considered for a moment. "…I have to see them," he decided.

"What?" 7 demanded, sounding alarmed—perhaps more so than she wanted to. "Go back to 1? So he can lock us away while this nightmare awakens?" She defiantly pulled her helmet back over her face and gave 9 an icy, angry stare square in his eye.

"Never."

With that, she jumped off the shelf and landed on the elevator's scaffolding. With the grace of a gymnast she launched herself up in the air, did a somersault in midair and landed back on the floor. Then she dashed out of the room, gone as suddenly as she had come.

Whatever the plan was now, if 1 and the church were part of the equation, 7 wanted nothing to do with it. And quite frankly, none of them blamed her.

Still, a simple "no" would have sufficed. (Sheesh…)

"_We're sorry about 7,"_ 3 apologized.

"_She's like that sometimes,"_ added 4. _"So… what will you do now?"_

"I have to see those drawings," 9 insisted.. "Whether 7's coming with us or not."

"Then we should go soon, before the sun sets," 5 pointed out.

"_Already?"_

"_But you just got here."_

"_You can't leave now!"_

"I think we have to."

They wilted and sighed together. 4 felt like she might start to cry. It had started out so beautifully, with reunions, meeting new friends, and laughter. And now 7 was angry, 5 and 9 were leaving, and the Machine was at large once again. How suddenly everything had changed, and how poorly too.

"_Need any help?"_ 3 asked. _"We make awesome assistants, you know."_

"_Yeah! If you're not going to stay, can we come with you?"_

"No!" 5 and 9 chorused.

Maybe they really _were_ twins…

The list of reasons why they should stay in the library was long and obvious, but,_ "Why not?"_ 4 asked.

"It's too dangerous," was the reason that 9 picked. "If something happened to either of you, what would we do? What would 7 do?"

"And she has a point," 5 added nervously. "When we go back inside that church, we might end up stuck there for a long time."

"_Well… When you get out again, will you come back?"_ 3 asked.

"Of course," 9 agreed with a comforting smile. What else could he say? He had no idea when he would ever get the chance to come back, but it wasn't like he was going to say that to them.

Thusly, 3 and 4 conducted their friends back down the elevator to the floor and showed them the way back to the front entrance where they had come from.

"_When you do get back out, you have to get 2 and 6 to come with you,"_ 3 suggested as they walked. _"Do you know how much they would __love__ it here?"_

"Yeah, I do," 5 agreed slowly, kind of sadly.

"What about 1 and 8?" 9 asked.

4 rolled her eyes and scoffed. _"They can stay in that church alone forever. They're not our family,"_ she informed flatly.

Women; they get so touchy. But at least she didn't throw a fit and run out like 7 had.

"_You must know what they're like by now, right?"_ she asked.

"Yes, I've met them," 9 agreed evenly.

"_So you see why 7 gets so angry."_

"I can understand it."

4 sighed and pushed the bad, old memories out of her head. Being between 9 and 5, she took their hands in hers as they walked.

"_Well, it doesn't matter, I guess,"_ she said resolutely. _"When all of this is over, you're all going to come back here, to the library, and we can be a family again, just like before. It's going to be great. And, 9, you can be part of our family now too!"_

"You guys, look… about 2…" 5 began, but stopped mid-sentence, unable to finish.

"_What's wrong?"_ 3 asked, suddenly concerned.

"It's a long story," 9 concluded for his friend.

The twins were still concerned, but something was obviously bothering their friends, so they didn't pester them. They continued their trek to the front entrance in silence. There the dormant stone fountain stood guard, the beautiful, victorious maiden's arms lifted heavenward in praise—though what she could possibly have to praise, being not only human but stuck guarding a dead city, was enigmatic to them. Beyond, in the courtyard, the circle of stone muses were crumbling; but they stood watch, just as surely as the fountain maiden despite the lack of people to ward off. Dusk was still some time away, but it was coming on quickly. Luckily for 5 and 9, the church was a lot closer than they realized—only a block and a half up the street.

Unbeknownst to any of them, the proximity would prove a blessing this night.

"This… is where we leave you," 5 said. "Will you be okay here on your own?"

"_Yeah; 7 will be back in a little bit, I guess,"_ 3 explained. _"Will __you__ be okay?"_

"I'm pretty sure we will."

3 wilted again, his last attempt to actually be useful foiled. He stepped forward and hugged 5 as hard as he could.

"_We've really missed you,5,"_ he said, starting to cry.

"We've really missed you guys too."

"_Let them all know that we're okay, okay?"_

"Of course."

It was true. 5's surprise and joy at seeing them wasn't just from missing them. He really, truly, honestly had no idea where they had been all this time. 7 had run away, and the twins, determined to find her, left soon after without telling anyone, lest someone try to hinder them. They had found each other, by sheer miracle. But, for all that their family knew, they had been dead all along. And to be separated like this now… Under any other circumstances they would have stayed together. But right now there was work to be done, clearly of the "grown-up" variety.

For herself, 4 wasn't so bothered by not being useful. While 3 and 5 had their moment, she gave 9 a winning smile and squeezed his hand.

"_Come back soon, and safe, okay?"_

9 regarded her for a moment. 4, like 7, was most definitely female; it was obvious from her posture, her body language, and her attitude, despite the androgynous body she shared with her brother—he also noticed that 4 was a hair shorter than 3 as well. She was also definitely a girl, not a woman, and a very young girl at that, her mind perhaps that of a 10-year-old. But an unusually genius 10-year-old, who had built an elevator _and_ catalogued a library. And she was obviously savvy and able to survive in their harsh environment, made from the same fair but sturdy materials as 7, as if they truly _were_ mother and child.

No child should have to know how to fend for herself like this, but this was the life that was left for her to live, so darn it she was going to live it. 9 patted her hooded head and sighed heavily.

"You're just a child…"

4 wasn't sure what he was getting at, but the affectionate contact was very endearing. She had only known him for half an hour tops, but somehow she felt safe with 9 in the same way she felt safe with 7. If push came to shove, she got the feeling that 9 would pick them over himself because he cared for them. And she loved that.

"Tell 7," 5 said as they walked out the door, "that if she changes her mind, we could always use her help."

"_We will,"_ they agreed together.

5 and 9 strode away down the courtyard and back into the wild and empty wilderness beyond. It was terra incognita which the twins hadn't set foot in for years. The burlap partners in crime were off on a real adventure—albeit a scary and deadly one—and that sort of made the twins want to run after them anyway. But deep inside, they were too smart. They were only children, after all; it was better if they stayed out of the way and let the big, brave people take care of things.

"_I wonder where he came from?"_ 3 wondered.

"_I like him; he's nice."_

"_Yeah, he is. I like him too. Do you think we'll see them again soon?"_

"_I sure hope so."_

They paused for a moment in the deepening light.

"_Do you think we should go and find 7?"_ 3 asked.

"…_That might be a good idea,"_ 4 agreed.

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The twins knew where 7 had probably gone. There was a tiny alcove high in the wall that she could easily access if she leaped from the top of a bookshelf. The alcove had a hole in the corner which led to the top of a column on the outside of the wall. Whenever she was troubled, 7 liked to go there by herself to think. So, while it was quite a feat for them to get up that high on their own, 3 and 4 ventured off to the alcove.

And after a good deal of climbing, they finally reached the alcove; just outside, on the other side of the wall, they were startled and very worried to hear someone crying. They walked through the hole and found themselves in the sunlight beside dismal 7, helmet and spear off to one side within her reach but no longer quite the extension of herself. She was sitting on the column, her knees drawn to her chest and head down upon them, sobbing miserably.

They had heard of 7 crying in the past, but she had always made sure that they were somewhere far away where they couldn't see or hear her. In the fragile, difficult situation they all found themselves in, the last thing that 3 and 4 needed was to see their guardian, protector and mother in such a state of weakness.

Yet there she was.

"_7?"_ 3 asked quietly. She gasped and looked up at them, noticing them for the first time and looking humiliated that someone had caught her in such an ugly moment—especially the children she took such great pains to shelter.

"_7, what's wrong?"_ 3 asked, a little louder this time.

7 took a deep breath and straightened herself a little. "I'm fine," she insisted, a pathetic attempt at a lie. Whatever it was, it was bad enough to make _7_ cry, so it must be something pretty bad.

The Machine was pretty bad, but it wasn't exactly like 7 to be so upset over something that could be physically dealt with. Could it have been something that 9 had said before, when she had snapped at him and run off? Kind of farfetched; 7 didn't like talking about 1, but he hadn't even been mentioned.

"_Was it something that 9 did?"_ 4 ventured.

"Who does he think he is, anyway?" 7 snapped, making the twins jump back. "He's barely even been here for a day, and what? He thinks he can just come in and start touching things, asking questions? Look at what he's done! That thing—the Machine—and 2, and…"

She couldn't hold it back any longer and began to sob again. "He's gone!" she wailed. "He's gone, and it's all his fault!"

The twins watched with a mix of fascination and horror as 7 continued to fall apart before them. But what was she talking about? 5 had mentioned 2 earlier, but hadn't finished his thought. What on earth had happened?

After a minute, 7 looked up and saw the confused looks on their faces. "They didn't tell you, did they?" she asked shakily.

"_Tell us what?"_

"_What's going on?"_

"It's 2… He's dead."

3 and 4 were stunned once again, robbed of any kind of language they had, and they both felt something in their cores shatter like glass being hit with a hammer. 2 had been their beloved mentor, and their first guardian—before there was even the idea for a 7, there had always been 2. He had single-handedly raised them all so that, in effect, they could raise each other. Of all of them, he had been the most patient and caring, but also the bravest and the smartest. How could this have happened? How could he just be… _gone_?

For half a moment they convinced themselves that it was an elaborate joke and that they were being messed with in a cruel psychological way. Or perhaps that it was really 2 playing a prank on them all and it had gone farther than he had meant. But no: if it had been a joke it would have been up by now. And 7 had been reduced to a quivering blob of jello. This was real. And more than just heartbreaking and gut-wrenching, it was terrifying.

"_The… The Machine?"_ 4 guessed.

7 nodded grimly, taking in shallow, angry gasps of air. "If he had just left it alone…" she said at a raspy whisper. "If he had just left that thing alone… Everything would have been fine."

They could tell quite clearly that "He" was not 2—it was 9, who had somehow turned the Machine back on, which was how it subsequently killed 2, which was why 7 was so angry and sad. Now that they could see the whole picture, they didn't blame her for crying: she had just lost the man who raised her—her own father—to a monster, let loose by a careless stranger. If they had lost 7 in the same way, they would have been pretty livid themselves. They kind of couldn't believe that 9 was still alive while 7 and her spear had been so close to him.

But while it was clear that 7 hated him now and probably wished she had killed him while she had the chance, the twins couldn't bring themselves to feel the same way. Surely it was an accident; 9 wouldn't have tried to kill anyone on purpose. He was just too nice. And, at the very least, he accepted all the blame and responsibility for his disastrous mistake and was trying to find a way to fix it. Even knowing what lay inside it, he was even willing to brave the church and its spiteful inhabitants for a solution. _That_ was impressive, as far as they were concerned.

Not that 7 would particularly care about any of this, but they decided to give it a try anyway.

"_Mama,"_ 3 said softly, a term of endearment that he and 4 only used in moments like this, _"he __is__ trying to fix it."_

"_And they could use your help,"_ 4 added.

"I don't want to help them," she grumbled. "I don't want anything to do with them anymore."

"_You would just leave them on their own like that?"_ 3 asked. _"But they wouldn't leave you."_

Backed into an inescapable corner with no place to hide, 7 turned away from them and stared off to the horizon. And that was when they noticed it: a black spot that gleamed in the sun flying across the sky. It wasn't too far away either; it looked like some kind of prehistoric bird. And it was headed in a sure, steady direction just past them, on its way down the street. As it flew by the courtyard, just barely missing the three of them, they could distinctly hear gears and spinning and metal structure clanging together as its well-designed body worked.

It was clear where it was going: straight to the church, where all their remaining friends were.

"_Oh, that thing can't be good,"_ 3 said nervously when the thing had passed out of earshot.

"_We should go help them,"_ 4 suggested. _"Maybe, if we go now and run really fast, we can get there first and warn them all."_

"No!" 7 exclaimed. "I'm not going back there, and you certainly aren't either."

"_But __someone__ has to do something,"_ 3 insisted.

"_Mama, you know they can't fight that thing by themselves,"_ 4 pointed out. _"That thing is going to kill them if they don't get help—they need you, now!"_

7 paused, torn between her comfort level and doing the right thing. "I don't want anything to do with that place unless it's tearing the building down and completely destroying it," she said finally, harshly.

3 frowned at his mother. _"2 would have come to help them. He wouldn't have left them to get killed by that thing, and you know it. Doesn't that mean something to you?"_

Finally, a sensitive nerve had been struck. Snapped out of her selfish childishness by her better ethical side, 7 slowly, shakily stood up. She picked up her spear and her helmet, placing it over her face once again.

"I'll be back," she informed them solidly, almost heroically, her confidence returned for now. She leapt off the column and rock-climbed her way down the 35 foot height, using the carving in the side of the wall for footholds and occasionally speeding her journey along with her signature jump-flip combo. She reached the ground quickly and took off toward the street, stopping only once to glance back at her children on the column. Later, she would recall feeling exceptionally proud of them in that moment and wishing that she had more time to savor it.

That evening the twins were too excited to work or sleep or do anything but stay up and wait. But for what? For 7 to return? For their family to come? For details about the bird-monster? They couldn't figure out exactly what they were waiting for, but it felt like they were definitely waiting for something. They waited patiently on top of the column, watching the nearby church steeple for something—anything.

And sure enough, something happened, just as dusk finally fell. It started out as just a whisper of smoke rising from the building, and within minutes, the old church was suddenly swallowed up in flames. They prayed as hard as they could that none of their friends were inside the inferno, and wondered how the fire had started.

The stars were harder to see with the bonfire illuminating the night sky. Already, cinders from the towering steeple were disintegrating and scattering on the wind around the neighborhood, and the library property was no exception. Cinders, ashes, and bits of charred paper fell out of the sky like snowflakes around them. They suddenly remembered a day impossibly far back in time when 2 had described snow to them. It sounded beautiful: tiny crystallized droplets of water, drifting peacefully to earth to cover the land in a sparkling white blanket, and no two flakes ever alike. This sooty debris was no snow, that was certain. The twins felt a terrible stab of grief at the memory.

But, once again, they didn't have time to revel much in the emotion: at last, their friends had wandered off the street and into the courtyard. They all looked tired and a little scared as they approached—except for always-jumpy 6, who kept breaking away from the group to chase after the ashes as if they were butterflies.

Good old 6. Some things never change.

What was certainly _not_ amusing was seeing 1 and 8 tacked onto the group, something which they had not been expecting and now filled them with mild dread. But more importantly, 7, 5 and 9 had all survived the fire as well; though 7 was limping along on one foot between them, leaning on their shoulders for support

"_Things are about to change, 4."_

"_They already have. Do you… think we'll have to run away again?"_

"_I hope not… Nah; we won't have to run away again."_

"_How do you know, brother?"_

"_I just do, okay?"_

"_Alright; if you say so. What now?"_

"_Go and say hello?"_

"…_Okay, that's a good idea."_

They climbed back inside the wall and made their way back down to the floor—getting up was hard, but in getting down they had gravity on their side. They ran off to welcome their family into their home, expecting more happy reunions, more than a few unpleasant words, and maybe even a blow or two exchanged before everyone settled down and resting from a long, wearying day.

Of course, in their rush, they never noticed the spy probe hovering in the sky just outside of the library property. Their evening was just beginning.


	2. Dying Day

2's story was my 19th birthday gift to myself in 2011, a little more than half a year after I started. It just suddenly dawned on me one day, "You know, _First Day_ was so insightful. I'll bet a similar concept with 2 would be just as fitting... I'll bet a similar concept for _all_ of them would be fitting!"

And that took me well into 2012, before I gave up on 8 being cooperative. :/

Today, I've enhanced the story with a lot of imagery. Watch for hope and eye imagery, particularly. Also, watch for the Wizard Of Oz reference—anyone who can find, I will send an epic commemorative birthday smiley face for their profile.

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_Dying Day_

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It had started, as always, with a fight between himself and 1. Their voices had risen so loud, their other companions had fled and found places to hide. Anyone concerned or dumb enough to remain in the open during these fights would inevitably become someone's target or human-shield.

Thusly, 2 had done what he always did after a fight: he retreated in a rage to the watchtower to build something. It never failed to calm his nerves, and helped him take his mind off of anything that had been said… mostly.1 was an insidious little parasite, and his sharp words were often hard to drive from his head. This evening, the poison stuck fast and clouded his thoughts, distracting him from his work.

"you worthless mite!" 1 had bellowed—his voiced was still fresh in 2's mind as he tried to work. "How dare you presume yourself exempt from _my_ authority?"

2 hated it when his old rival used big words, as if he were really clever.

"You have no authority over me," 2 had countered. "I am my own master, and you will never change that!"

At the very least, that much was true. 1 hated 2 for his willfulness and refusal to be controlled; but he was too cowardly to try and do much about it. How he had claimed supreme leadership over them all and gotten away with it, 2 still wasn't entirely sure. About five years ago when they had found the church, it had taken them several days to settle and calm themselves. It had been a strange, surreal period of time, and all manner of terrible things came to pass: 5 had lost an eye, and 2 had hoped to repair it; but the repair was beyond even his skill. Instead, the gaping hole that was left had been covered over with a scrap of leather from a pew Bible. Only after this lengthy and soul-crushing operation had been completed did they all realize that the twins, 3 and 4, had somehow lost their voices entirely. Upon checking, 2 had found their voice boxes intact and undamaged, but they simply couldn't speak. 6, who had mental problems to begin with, had begun fading away, spending hours in dark corners by himself, scribbling frightening ink drawings on any flat surface he could find, and babbling nonsensically when he made an attempt to be social.

And at some point in the midst of dealing with all the trauma and confusion around him, with only flighty, impatient 7 to help him, he later discovered that 1 had decided to seize the opportunity and appoint himself as their leader. By the time the others had collected themselves enough to see what had happened, it was too late to change anything.

Perhaps it was only natural, 2 had once reasoned with himself. 1 came first, after all. Perhaps he was destined to be the leader, no matter how poor a leader he was. 2 had simply accepted it once upon a time and moved on. There were problems to be dealt with among his own family, his "children" and "grandchildren" all having their own unique and specific issues to grapple with.

But that approach hadn't lasted long. 1 left them alone for a time, only to realize that being a supreme dictator was no fun unless you could find someone to kick around. Of course, he always had empty-headed 8, who didn't know any better but to follow where his puppet master led him, but he was compliant. 1 had suddenly discovered a craving for breaking rebels of their will, and he knew exactly where to find them. He began harassing and tormenting them all any time one happened to wander away from the others.

It got so bad at times that they had begun hiding themselves away at night. The twins were particularly targeted, for they couldn't help but wander away to try and read and, true to the form of any dictator, 1 wouldn't tolerate anyone trying to solve their own problems with the printed page. They were only children, and their punishment seemed to know no bounds; 2 and 7 stopped allowing the children out of their watchful and defensive eye.

To pass these miserable days, and also to channel his tremendous rage, 2 had taken to piecing broken odds and ends together into useful things. Had had spent months dutifully crafting screwdrivers, hammers, axes and wrenches. He had rigged the church they had confined themselves to with wheels, tracks, ropes and pulleys and levers to help them navigate the large building. The business of building things seemed to help calm fretful 5, as well; after picking up some tools and a few gears, he found he, too, had a talent for construction. His coordination returned, and he started smiling again for the first time in months. Even now, they could spend hours together, building little things that had no purpose, and be perfectly content.

But it hadn't been enough for 7. She had tried several times to escape, only to be caught every time. Alas, a couple of year earlier, she finally succeeded and escaped while everyone slept one night, taking with her only a rudely crafted spear. Her disappearance had upset them all, after a period of relative steadiness. In fact, the twins had taken it so poorly that they, too, ran away soon after. No one had seen their wayward comrades in a very long time. 1 preferred to speculate that the pests were dead, spirited away by the one animated being they shared the now-silent world with—a monstrous skeleton that once belonged to a feral cat. It hunted them like mice whenever they ventured outside the church during the day, and they simply called it the Beast.

2 didn't want to believe this, so he mostly didn't think about it too much.

Today, he lived a lonely and depressing life, brightened only by the intelligent but painfully shy son that he loved so much. 5 was a good boy, but he was wishy-washy. It seemed like good things were always being ripped out from under him, and it made him nervous. Even now, he was probably still hiding from the loose tempers that had taken over the place. But he cautiously ventured to the watchtower after a while, finding 2 still working feverishly with a wrench and a couple of gears.

"Are you alright?" he asked timidly.

5's voice snapped 2 away from his gloomy thoughts, and for the first real time he registered his latest creation. It was a useless jumble of gears and screws, haphazardly and vengefully cobbled together into a mess of metal. Annoyed, he tossed it away from him and sighed heavily.

"I just don't know anymore…" he grumbled, his head sinking sadly into his hands. Why did life have to be so difficult? It was hard enough already. 5 came and sat down next to him at their work table, but didn't say anything. His silent, flaky presence was somehow comforting; it was nice to not be alone.

"I wish your sister would come back…"

"We all do."

"It was so much easier when 7 was here. I can't do everything by myself."

"You've always got me."

But, of course, even he knew there was no replacing sturdy, confident 7. 5 looked like an ant beside her, and he knew it.

"Where's 6?"

"In his corner, as always."

"Has he drawn anymore of his pictures since I last looked?"

5 shrugged. "Probably. He can't seem to help himself."

2 sighed again, a little less sad than before. He admittedly sighed a lot. He found it was usually the only appropriate reaction, and it was oddly soothing.

"I'm going to see what he's up to," he said finally, rising from the workbench and walking to the door.

"Is it always going to be like this, 2?" 5 asked suddenly before he left.

2 suppressed another sigh, shook his head and answered, "I hope not."

_And perhaps,_ he thought as he walked off, _that hope isn't so poorly placed._

Interestingly enough, 6 seemed to be onto something lately. For the past few months, the mental artist had been drawing the same doodle over and over again. From years ago, 2 recognized it instantly as the so-called "Source", the key to life which had animated them all. When 6 had first began to draw it, 2 had been unnerved; he was the only one aware of it, the only one who had been concerned enough to ask their late creator about it. How did 6 know about it? And how did he know to draw it in excruciating, perfect detail? He would labor often for hours on a single picture of it, though all his drawings were identical; if he didn't find it exactly right, he would rip it to shreds, ball the shreds up and chuck the ball into the fire in a fit of uncharacteristic anger.

More recently, as he scribbled alone in his dark corner, they had all heard him muttering ardently, "He is coming… He is coming… He is coming with the Source…"

No one else really thought much about this; 6 babbled incoherently all the time, anyway. But 2 had a feeling there was more than just his crazy, brilliant self at work. He almost seemed like he was somehow preparing for someone to arrive out of the blue. Something was definitely up. Perhaps 6 wasn't as crazy as they thought; perhaps the antics they had mistaken all these years for those of a lunatic were really those of a prophet. Could 6 have the gift of foresight…?

2 couldn't say for sure, but the whole business raised several questions that he wanted answered. _Now_. Another thing that 1 loathed him for, he was always asking questions and seeking answers on his own. 1 saw no point in asking questions about the world around them, or even the other personalities he shared quarters with; life was the way it was, and asking questions was a waste of time. Life was to be dealt with; questions and curiosity were distracting, and caused people to stray away from the path he had decided they should be on.

But there was very little he could do about 2, who refused to give up his curious ways. 1 didn't like it, but he couldn't compete with 2's own firry confidence and wit. So they let the issue lie… for now. In the meantime, to make as little trouble as possible, 2 dealt with 6 as inconspicuously as he could. Every day, he tried to talk a little more information out of him, but he always got the same answers.

"Can you tell me who's coming, 6?"

6 would barley look up, or even register that 2 was even there, and keep muttering, "He is coming… He is coming with the Source…"

This had continued for a long time. And then, one glorious day a few months ago, the box opened and 6 said something extraordinary.

"Can you tell me who's coming?" 2 had asked, as always.

Suddenly, 6 looked up from his drawing, looked 2 right in the eye, and answered with a single word:

"9."

"…What?" 2 asked in surprise.

"9… He is coming…. He is coming with the Source…"

After that, 6 wouldn't say any more about it. He hadn't mentioned this 9 since that day, let alone reveal who he really was. But, whoever he was, he was apparently coming. With the Source. 2 wouldn't let anyone else in on the secret: 1 would throw a fit, and maybe try to hurt 6; it would only make 5 even more nervous; and it was impossible to even get close to 8, let alone have a conversation with him. So 2 continued to watch 6 closely, prying gently for any more information that might be there. And he resigned himself to wait patiently for something to happen. 6 had been at this for so long. Surely he knew that something was about to happen.

Today, as always, 6 had littered his dark corner with a new pile of Sources. 2 found him going through the pile, deciding on his favorite—even though they all looked exactly the same. The walls around him were wallpapered depressingly with his other favorite Sources, over 100 of them tacked up almost two feet high.

"Hello, 6. Are you doing alright?"

As always, 6 didn't even seem to notice him. 2 walked into the shadow and sat beside him on the floor, anyway. Today, instead of muttering, he was humming absentmindedly but happily. He seemed very pleased with his work, and was having a hard time choosing today's favored picture; they were all so good. Of course, having pen nibs for fingers, anything he drew was excellent. None of them could match his artistic talent.

"So, can you tell me about what you've drawn today?"

In response, 6 picked up a random drawing and held it up for 2 to see. Yup. It was another drawing of the Source, alright. He regarded it proudly, put it back on the floor with the others, and compared them all again, unable to make up his mind. What did he see in each one that made them so different?

"Well, can you tell me who's coming?"

"He's coming," 6 answered, as always, looking just a little flabbergasted today. 2 had been asking him the same question for months, and he apparently thought he had given a perfectly clear answer. Why was 2 still asking? Was he secretly dumb or something?

"Come on, 6. Tell me more about 9. Who is he? When is he coming?"

6 shook his head. "He's coming," he repeated plainly.

Once again, 2 sighed sadly. He pointed to one of the drawings. "May I have this one?"

6 nodded slowly.

2 looked over the other four on the floor. Pointing to the second one, he said, "You should pick this one for your wall," he said. "I like how… how it… goes."

6 regarded it for a second and smiled happily, his difficult decision-making process finally done. He picked it up and took it to the wall, looking for a space to tack it. As he searched, he began humming again, and 2 walked away.

_Is that all he knows?_ 2 wondered as he wandered back to his room in the watchtower. _Is that truly all he can tell me? Or is he trying to tell me that's all I _need_ to know? How I wish he could just tell me… Could there really be a ninth somewhere out there, trying to find us…?_

_I hope so._

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Evening came quickly. The stars sparkled in the dark blue sky, and the milky moon was almost full. While everyone else slept, 2 and 5 were wide awake in the watchtower.

"Do you see it anywhere?" 2 asked 5 as he packed some of his tools into a bag. On the other side of the room, 5 was looking through their impressive telescope at the world just outside, looking for signs that the Beast was still wandering around.

"I don't see anything," 5 answered. "Everything is still."

"Then I guess we can assume it's relatively safe. Ready to go?"

"Yes, I'm ready."

Once every week, 2 and 5 would go out into the emptiness to look for building supplies. It was the only safe time to go out—the Beast only hunted by day, it seemed. By the time the moon rose, 1 was usually asleep as well, largely unaware that they went anywhere at all.

And then he wondered why the two were tired enough to sleep all day…

So they wandered together through the wreckage of the broken world with a cart they had built, piling it high with splintered wood, scraps of metal, wires, batteries, small stones, and any small thing they thought might be useful.

Looking around in the piles of trash on the street, 5 found a tarnished gear and recalled they had been looking for a new one, to make a new setting for the telescope.

"Hey, 2 is this the size we've been looking for?"

2 didn't answer. Suddenly nervous, 5 looked around for his father and found him at last, standing a little way off, staring silently at the moon. Wondering what the old man could be up to, 5 went to join him.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked.

"I was just thinking," 2 answered vaguely.

"…About the moon?"

"Judging by its position, it's about one o'clock in the morning. A new day. Another day to continue living…. Anything can happen today, 5. It's sort of exciting."

"What's going to happen?"

"I have no idea." He looked over at his son and saw the gear in his hand. His eyes lit up.

"May I see that?"

5 handed it over and 2 examined it closely. No cracks. All teeth accounted for. Three centimeter diameter.

"Is this the right one?" 5 asked hopefully.

2 laughed happily. "It's perfect! Where did you find it?"

5 beamed, happy to have been helpful. "Just lying around."

2 patted him on the shoulder. "Sometimes, the best things are," he agreed. "Why don't we get home?"

"There's still plenty of night left. Why don't we just stay out for a while longer?"

An unusually bold request. 2 decided to honor it. For a few hours, they sat on the side of the street and just talked.

"So, any ideas for what will happen today?" 5 asked. "You seem excited about something."

"Not really. A lot can happen in 24 hours. I just get really excited to see what it will bring. Surprise is half the fun of living."

"Maybe today is the day that 7 and the twins come back home," 5 mused quietly. He smiled vaguely, thinking lovingly of his sister and the silent, intelligent children she had sort of adopted as her own. They had been such a source of energy, sort of skittish and quick, flitting around unpredictably like moths. After weeks of trying coax speech out of them, they had found a new way to communicate: a strange language spoken by flickering their eyes. It sounded like the beating of moth wings, but it somehow registered in everyone's mind as whole words. Not even 2, who knew their individual designs inside and out, understood how they had figured this out. They all guessed there must be untold genius in the heads of the gentle children.

But now they were gone without a trace, and their joyful presence with them.

2 agreed to himself that this could, in fact be that day. He could still see 7's pretty face so clearly in his mind, he thought for a second that she was right in front of him. If he ever had the fortune of seeing her again, just one more time in his life… 7 had personal space issues and didn't like being touched without an invitation, but he didn't care. He would run up and hold her as tight as he could and never let her go again.

_Surely, she is out there somewhere, alive and well. And she must have the twins with her. If anyone could survive out here all alone, it's 7. She _must_ be okay…_

Staring at the horizon, looking for any sign of movement anywhere in the empty world, he silently hoped that this would be the day that 9—whoever he was—finally came with the Source.

_24 hours…_ he thought. _Anything can happen._

On a window ledge, just above their heads, a silent, watchful figure stood and watched them closely, surveying the world around them for danger. But all was still, and they were the only things that stirred in the ruins. Assured that they were safe, but unwilling to leave them unprotected, the warrior remained. The warrior could always see them, but they could never see the warrior.

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It was still dark when they arrived home, still very early in the morning; perhaps as early as five-thirty. The moon was sinking, but dawn was still far off. Everyone in the church was still asleep, and it was serenely quiet. 2 and 5 hauled their loaded cart to the elevator—a rusty bucket with one side cut out and attached back on with hinges to make a door, with a rope and pulley that, when pulled, took its passengers to one of three floors they had created. They loaded the cart into the bucket as quietly as they could and, together, pulled the rope down. The bucket rose higher and higher in the air, bearing them all the way to the third story, the watchtower.

But, almost all the way to their destination in the church's dilapidated steeple, 2 asked 5 to stop at the second floor, where 6's corner was located.

"I'd just like to check on him," he insisted.

"Hurry," 5 answered, his eyes darting around, for 1 and 8 both slept on this floor. They might hear them and wake up at any minute.

"Don't worry," 2 assured him, and dashed off.

6 hadn't left, of course. He had fallen asleep on the floor again, his piles of paper a poor excuse for a bed. 2 knelt beside him and patted his head, feeling very sad for had become of this otherwise brilliant boy. As he slept, his left hand continued working, forming scribbles and random lines on the paper around him. 2 had always known that 6 auto-wrote in his sleep, perhaps a projection of his dreams on paper. If so, he dreamed in abstract shapes that made no sense at all, and didn't show any sign that he had the gift of foresight.

Satisfied that 6 was alright, 2 returned to the elevator and they continued to the watchtower in silence.

"Get some rest," 2 insisted when they reached the top. "We'll go through these things tomorrow."

"I thought we'd get started on the telescope setting," 5 suggested. "We have all the time in the world, and we've searched so long for this piece."

"I'm excited too, but it's very early. Let's get a few hours rest at least before we try fiddling with our equipment."

5 smiled tiredly in agreement, and walked off to his bed with a yawn. Before turning to his own bed, 2 looked off across the land, scanning the horizon one more time for any sign of life. Of course, there was nothing there. He sighed again, tired and a little disappointed, and decided that, surely, sleep would clear his mind of his troubles. He didn't usually dream in color anymore, anyway.

After only a few hours of fitful sleep, he woke again. The sun had already risen, but the sky was thick with gray clouds, blocking the light. He couldn't see the sun to get the time, but it didn't matter. It was morning now. He felt rested enough and got out of bed, looking for something to do until 5 woke up. He didn't dare start on the telescope without him.

_He'll probably sleep a few hours more,_ he thought to himself. _I wonder if 6 is up yet…?_

He went back to the elevator and lowered it alone down to the second floor. Unfortunately, as soon as he got there, he found 1 waiting for him.

"Sleep well?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well enough," 2 retorted. "What do you want."

"I have a small favor to ask of you."

"I'll bet."

"Come now, 2. You might actually enjoy it."

"I doubt that."

"Today, I actually _want_ you to go out into the emptiness for me."

2 hesitated for a moment, regarding 1 carefully.. "…Oh really?"

"Yes, really," 1 agreed evenly, stepping away and walking toward the stained glass window on the other side of the room. "Come. Walk with me."

2 didn't like it, but he hopped out of the elevator and followed his rival to stand below the window. The angel in the window intimidated everyone; looking down on them with its neutral expression that could be either benevolent or menacing, depending on who was looking at it. The angel reminded 2 of Lady Justice, the goddess Themis, the blindfolded dispenser of justice. Whenever he and 1 were civil enough to make a deal with one another, they did so in the critical, ever-present gaze of the angel. Not even 1 dared be unpleasant in its line of sight.

"Well, what do you want?" 2 demanded.

"I need you to go on a scouting mission today," 1 replied flatly.

"A scouting mission? Why?"

"Because you're simply the best person here for the job. You'll be outside, in the emptiness we all know you can't stay out of. Why sneak out at night when you can just go in the daytime, with my consent?"

2 scoffed. "I don't need your consent to do anything. And besides, the emptiness belongs to the Beast while the sun is up. It's too dangerous; I could never put 5 in that sort of danger."

"Then don't bring 5 along, and go by yourself. You'll travel faster and go more quietly. The Beast will never know you're out there."

"I don't think so. What am I even supposed to be scouting for, if I may ask?"

"Anything unusual," 1 answered vaguely.

"Such as…?"

"Anything dangerous."

1 was up to no good again, that much was clear.

"The Beast is the only thing that poses any danger to us," 2 pointed out. "And since when did _you_ care, as long as we're safely imprisoned and enslaved to you, inside this church?"

1 rolled his eyes and made a disgusted noise, and strode a few steps away. "I thought for sure _you_ of all people would be interested, 2. You always want to go outside. You're always trying to get away from us."

"Not this way."

"Beggars can't be choosers, you know."

"I'm no beggar. I just take what is mine by right. You've somehow gotten it in your head that, if you say I'm yours to control, it will magically become true. I promise you that this isn't so."

1 was silent for a moment, contemplating one of the many things on the wall. "Things have been difficult for you since 7 left, haven't they?" he asked suddenly. "Things have been tough for us all since she ran away. If only she were here… she would have been brave enough to go with you on this mission, wouldn't she?"

2 scowled at him, upset enough that he would dare to think about her. If they hadn't been in the presence of the angel, he might have stormed over and punched 1 in the face. Instead, he crossed his arms and said, "What do you care about her? You don't even think she's still alive."

"You seem to, though. What if she's out there, somewhere?"

"Ha. You don't' really care."

"Not really. But I know _you_ do."

"She ran away for a reason, 1. If she's alive, she's not coming back, even if I did find her."

"Suit yourself," 1 said dismissively, and walked away, revealing what he had been staring at. On the wall was a faded, dog-eared page from an old calendar, dated March, 2058. The last week-and-a-half was missing, but days one through nineteen were still intact. With the black ashes of a burned out match, three days of the first week had been brutally crossed off with severe black X's—3, 4, and 7.

Just looking at that calendar page made 2 want to cry, and he suddenly felt like if he didn't get out of the church right now, he would hit someone. Before going back to the elevator, he walked to the wall and touched the crossed-off numbers gently, lingering the longest on Thursday, March the Seventh.

_Saturday the Second may well be the next date crossed off,_ he thought to himself.

Before leaving, he returned to the watchtower to retrieve the cart, which was still half-full from the night before. For a moment, he thought of waking 5 and asking him to come along, but he decided against it. Right now, he just wanted to be alone. He paused for several minutes to admire the sleeping boy he had worked so hard to raise and allowed himself to feel proud in spite of his mood. He reached down and gave 5's arm a gentle squeeze, though he didn't wake up.

"I'll be back," he said quietly, and returned to the elevator.

If he had known what was about to happen, he would have changed his mind about everything.

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It must have been early, still; the dim glow of the sun through the clouds was low in the sky. A calm, gentle breeze blew through the ruined city, accenting the heavy silence, broken only by the occasional settling of beaten down buildings and a distant tire squeaking slowly, almost painfully.

_I wonder who's child the bike with that tire belonged to,_ 2 thought sadly as he hauled the cart down the street. The direction he had chosen did nothing to help his mood. He had forgotten that the church was so close to the house they had been made in. It was a place he avoided when outside if he could. But today, lost in his thoughts once again, he had forgotten to look exactly where he was going.

And, soon enough, the house came into view. The gloomy old house was in a similar shape as the other once-spiffy townhouses around it. 2 remembered it when it was still whole and sturdy; it was once large and lovely, and deserved to have children running about its floors. Today, it was anything but whole or sturdy: large chunks had been blown in the sides by cannon fire, leaving the wood and brick building painfully top-heavy. On one side, the first two floors had been blasted away, leaving only a few pieces of decaying wood holding the rest of the structure up. 2 kind of couldn't believe that the house hadn't toppled over yet.

It dawned on him to wonder, _Could they have run … here, of all place?_ He considered climbing over the rubble that covered the stone steps to the front door and hollering for 7. Perhaps, with no other place to go, she had run to the only other home she had ever known. But he realized that was impossible; the house was so unsteady now, the slightest movement could take it down. She would have been too smart to try her luck.

But, all at once, he was proven wrong—though he would never actually know it. He trundled on with his cart and allowed his thoughts to overtake him once more, not even bothering to look back at the house. So he didn't hear behind him the sound of the top story shutters flying open. Nor did he see the diminutive figure the shutters revealed upon the window sill, surveying the devastation with fresh eyes.

At length, 2 decided to stop and rest near a pile of trash that looked promising in the way of spare parts. Children must have been here right before the Machine had attacked so many years ago—there were toys all over the street here. Toys with gears and batteries, cloth and thread, and even a smashed baby doll that could talk using a voice box, like the kind he and others all had. Another painful memory hit him hard, of the day he realized the twins had stopped speaking. He had spent that whole frightening day examining their voice boxes, looking for something broken that he could fix. Voice boxes were relatively easy to fix, he knew; surely, it was nothing he couldn't have handled. But their voice boxes had been perfectly fine, intact, unbroken, not a scratch or a wire out of place. He still couldn't say for sure what had happened to them; though he was certain the significant amount of trauma they had been put through had something to do with it.

It was difficult to see in the dim light of the cloudy day. From his bag, still stowed in the cart, he produced a match and a piece of headgear he had invented himself for seeing in the dark. The base of a candlestick holder, he found, formed a decent head covering, and he had once used it for a helmet. But then he had found a wax candle stub that fit in the holder perfectly; when lit, it created a beacon of light that the others had relied on in the past to find their way in the dark. And then, he found a pair of broken glasses, one lens completely broken, but the other good for use. He attached the lens on a hinge so that it swung in front of his face and acted like a magnifying glass. The final problem to solve was that he couldn't reach the candle taper to extinguish the flame while wearing his contraption. This was solved by attaching a crank that he could reach, which lowered the broken-off bowl of a spoon over the flame, putting it out without him having to touch it. He had worked hard to perfect it and make it serve his complete purpose, and he was almost as proud of it as the telescope.

He could never be more proud of anything than he was of the telescope. All his tools and gear, he had built by himself. But the telescope was the first big project that he and 5 had completed together. And that meant more to him than anything else he had made in his life.

Wearing his headgear and looking something like the nutty professor, 2 hung around the pile of broken toys and went through their contents, salvaging bits of cloth and sturdy thread, and gears from the mechanical toys. He spent half an hour this way, working steadily but quietly, lest the Beast hear him. The thing could be anywhere; there wasn't much daylight, but there was enough. The Beast only ever hunted during the day. Every creaking sound around him could mean he had been spotted, and he knew he would have to move on soon.

But, just as he was contemplating picking up his things and continuing on his way, he heard a new sound from behind him, coming closer. It sounded like one of their own, running toward him. He turned to look on all sides, but didn't see anyone…

Then he looked on his other side, the candlelight projecting through the glass lens over the immediate area, and saw someone. But the someone startled at being seen and dashed for cover behind a rusty aerosol can. At first, he thought it was 5, who had perhaps followed and caught up with him; the stranger looked just like him. Except 2 had plainly seen that the stranger's left eye was still in its proper place, and he carried a shining line down his front which had sort of looked like a zipper from a distance. This was certainly a stranger; 2 had never seen him before.

_Can it be?_

2 climbed down from his sitting place and walked quickly toward the aerosol can, not expecting the blow to the head that met him as he turned the corner. He saw bright lights burst on his eyes, and he fell to the ground, cradling the sore spot in his hands. Out of the corner of his blurred vision, he saw the stranger peer cautiously around the corner at him, and disappear again.

"Wait," 2 called to him. "I'm a friend."

The stranger eased out of the shadow of the can, defensively brandishing a wooden stick. But when he saw who he had knocked to the ground he dropped it, looking embarrassed, and ran to help 2 back to his feet. Perhaps the stranger had expected 2 to be angry, but the old man in the strange headgear was far from it. In fact, 2 couldn't believe what had just happened to him.

"Yes!" 2 gasped, not believing his tremendous luck. "I had always hoped…" he said, too overcome to finish his sentence. He circled the stranger once, somehow prompting him to do the same. After turning an awkward three times around each other, he finally found the tell-tale number on the stranger's back: in carefully scripted black ink on the stranger's burlap skin, was printed the number 9. The one of 6's prophecy had finally come! And he looked so much like 5 had once—they could have been twins, themselves.

But they were still very different. 9 seemed newer, fresher somehow. He took one of 9's hands and examined them for some sign of where he had been and how he had come. His metal digits were tarnished, but in otherwise perfect condition, perhaps never used until now. And they told much more about him as well.

"Such thought," 2 mused to himself, always touching and feeling as he went. "Molded copper," he noted, fiddling with one of 9's fingers. "And carved wood," he added, tapping on the newcomer's smooth, oaken palm for emphasis.

The scientist who had made them had paid attention to details before, certainly. He never cut corners or used cheap materials for making them. But never before had he been so extravagant. He had favored stronger metals for digits in the past—in the cases of 7 and 8, the fighters, he had gone the extra mile to use titanium; but, with the exception of 6, the rest of them had digits of strong, non-rusting steel.

He had made 9 to be special. That much was apparent. But what was he meant for, now that he was here?

After a moment admiring his hands, 9 got 2's attention. He made a few clumsy movements with his mouth, but no sound came out.

"You can't speak?" 2 guessed. An idea struck him. The baby doll had a voice box.

"Come with me," he said, gesturing for 9 to follow him back to the pile of toys. On his way back, he also retrieved a new match to relight his candle, extinguished when he had been knocked down. He lit a new light, shook the flame from the match, and carelessly stuck it in the baby doll's empty eye socket, feeling oddly numb about missing eyes. The doll's skin already falling apart and it stuffing lying strewn about, 2 fished around inside it for the voice box. Finally finding it, he pulled it out of the doll and turned back to 9. The naïve newcomer had found a bullet, still whole and gleaming brassy in the dim light. He had raised it over his head, about to smack it down on the pavement, just to see what it was and what would happen.

"Stop!" 2 exclaimed, and 9 instantly froze. Lowering his voice, 2 walked over to him, gently took the bullet from his hand, and put it back where it had been.

"Some things are better left where they lie," he said, sadly and vaguely. 9 looked concerned and interested in the older man's in-explanatory comment, but had no words to ask questions with. Yet.

"But, if you know where to look," 2 continued, "these ruins are full of riches." He knelt down and undid the zipper on 9's front, revealing the small jumble of hardware within. They all looked pretty much the same inside, down to their wiring. 2 knew their basic anatomy inside and out, and could repair any sort of physical damage with ease. To his astonishment, though, 9 had no voice box; all the wires to accommodate one were there, but nothing was attached to them.

_Why would he have put so much thought and work into this one, but not think to give him a voice?_ 2 wondered. _Built in a hurry, perhaps?_

Well, it didn't matter. The voice box from the doll was in perfect working order, and would fill their need well. Setting the lens on his head gear before his eyes, he picked up the box, carefully set it inside 9's body cavity, and began hooking the wires into their appropriate places. As he worked, 9 began testing his new voice with a single easy word; it started out as a dull, static, unintelligible, roaring static, but became clearer as the wires connected.

"_friend… Friend…_Friend," he said, his voice finally clear and understandable. He seemed immensely relieved to finally be able to speak/

"Yes, friend," 2 agreed, pushing the lens aside. Looking back over his work, he noticed a round, glinting object among 9's wiring. Seeing his interest, 9 reached inside and took the object out. For their size, it was fairly large; they needed both hands to hold it properly. It was shaped like a pop-top bottle cap, with three copper buttons on top, each engraved with a pagan symbol that they couldn't read.

It was the Source!

2 gasped again and took it wondrously in his own hands. "You found it!" he exclaimed with an excited laugh, thinking proudly of 6 and his prophecy, fulfilled at long last. "He's always drawing this," he added, as if 9 knew what he was talking about.

This was a lucky, wonderful day, indeed. The prophecy had come to pass. The Source was once again in the hands of those who rightfully deserved it. Things were about to change.

"Are… Are we alone?" 9 stammered, still not completely used to his new voice, and sounding a little nervous.

"No," 2 answered reassuringly. He couldn't wait now to get this wayward soul back home to meet everyone. Maybe 1 wouldn't like it much, but 9 was certainly one of them. He would have a safe and somewhat happy home among them. He couldn't wait to see 6's face when he found out his prophecy had come to pass. He couldn't wait to tell 5 that he had a brother. This was the best day ever!

But before he could continue, they heard a low growl close by. Something skittered around in the shadows. He tensed up, searching all around for more movement. It was too late to move: the Beast had found them. There was nothing left to do but defend themselves.

"Shh," he hissed gently, and pointed to the aerosol can, half its side eaten away by rust.

"Get in the can," he directed. 9 backed toward it slowly, cautiously, not understanding what was going on.

"Go on, go on," 2 insisted. 9 obeyed and jumped into the empty can, peeking nervously around the edge to see what was happening.

2 grabbed his own spear out of the cart, knowing it wasn't the best weapon against the Beast. He wished he had thought to bring the crossbow from the watchtower; it had proven before to be much better against the monster. But it was all he had. And something inside him insisted that he had to protect 9 at all costs. At the very least, he could be an excellent distraction. It was here. Somewhere…

He felt a sharp breath down his back and spun around too late. The Beast had snuck up and taken him by surprise. Refusing to let fear overtake him, he whipped his pathetic spear around in its face, jabbing it uselessly into its empty eye socket. The Beast snapped the spear away, casting it aside like the twig it was. Weaponless, 2 knew he didn't stand a chance.

But as the Beast was about to snap him in half with its powerful jaws, something rattled nearby, stealing its attention and giving him a moment to retaliate. Unfortunately it was coming from the aerosol can; 9 was moving around inside, and the monster had found him. It leaped at the can, trying to get inside it.

_No! Not after all this time,_ 2 thought frantically, looking around desperately for some sort of weapon. As the Beast continued to try and pry the can weak, rusty can open, he finally grabbed a handful of small stones and started throwing them at it, turning it's vengeful attention back on him, at least.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty," he taunted it, thinking of what a bad idea this was. But at least it was working. The Beast stalked away from the can and advanced on him instead.

"Why don't you finish what you started," he dared, raising one last stone in his shaking hand.

"With _me_."

The monster towered over him, the dark, empty holes in its skull drilling into his own eyes, and he shook with fear. It had never been this close before, and now it was going to take him. Before he had a chance to at least throw his last stone, the thing snapped him up in its jaws like a kitten and turned to leave. His brilliantly crafted headgear fell to the ground and all the pieces smashed apart on the ground below him.

_It hasn't killed me? Why?_

Before leaving, 2 still clutched helplessly but alive in its mouth, it took one more look inside the aerosol can—but 9 was gone. However, not knowing just what he had found, he had dropped the Source in his rush to flee. In its long, bony claws, the Beast picked it up out of the dust and placed it in a space on its chest.

_It's a perfect fit,_ 2 noted with a twinge. _How is that? What is this thing up to?_

Its business done, the Beast bounded off over the piles of refuse littering the streets, headed for the horizon. Behind them, 2 saw 9 run into the middle of the street, apparently in an attempt to follow and rescue him.

_No! You can't do this alone! Go back and find 5! _He wanted to yell, but they were too far away. And the Beast would surely hear him if he raised his voice. The monster leapt off down the street, leaving 9 alone in the ruins.

_Please let him be okay,_ 2 prayed. _Please let him find the others…_

After traveling for half an hour at a run, the Beast had brought him back to its den. It made its home in the abandoned factory that had been the Machine's base. The terrible thing was dormant now, unable to create anything more. But the Beast had been made here, and had never left its birthplace. It brought him into the huge room where things had once been created; but the floor was covered in trash like the streets outside. After digging around in the mess for a moment, the Beast produced a brass birdcage. Setting it in the open where it could be seen clearly, the Beast opened the door, grabbed 2 out of its mouth in its monstrous claws, and tossed him roughly inside. It slammed the door shut, jamming it. There was no way to escape now.

Satisfied that its prize wouldn't get away, the Beast turned away and continued digging through the mountains of trash, searching for something. Once it was occupied, 2 walked around the edge of the cage, reaching between the bars and looking for something he could use to pry them apart. But nothing of use was found. He was hopelessly trapped, and he had no idea what the Beast wanted with him.

_It hasn't killed me, it seems to know what the Source is, it's holding me hostage… What is it doing? And when did it become intelligent enough to hold captives, anyway? I thought it was just a feral animal._

He leaned back against the bars and sank to the floor. How had this happened? He prayed rather than just hoped that 9 was alright, that he had found his way to the church and told everyone what had happened.

_1 would never allow them to come after me,_ 2 thought dismally. _He probably planned this from the start. But surely, 5 will get away and come find me. If no one else will, surely he will come…_

Trapped and scared, he put his head down on his knees and closed his eyes.

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Several hours passed, and a dust storm picked up outside. It was early afternoon, and the harsh winds had blown the clouds away. The sun had finally come out, painting the sky red and orange like fire—the sky was rarely blue anymore. And, even though the sun had come out, it was difficult to see through the storm.

Only one person dared brave the dust storm. She was hunting the Beast herself, and refused to let a little wind get in her way. As she stalked toward an abandoned mine she had seen the monster use before, she stopped. Clinging to a jagged rock, whipping in the wind, was a scrap of paper. It was a map, carefully drawn and sketched by a familiar hand.

_I've seen that map before,_ she thought, and looked off toward the open mine shaft several yards away. In the open tunnel, blocked off from the wind, there were three sets of fresh tracks. One, of course, was the four feline feet of the Beast. The other two sets of tracks belonged to Stitchpunks, like herself.

She peered into the deep, dark tunnel through the eyes of her sparrow skull helmet and gripped her spear tightly.

_No, it couldn't be… Could it…?_

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2 had slept soundly for several hours, without concept of time. But he woke to someone shaking him gently and calling his name.

"2! 2?"

At first, he thought he was still dreaming. But no… that was 5's voice. He opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder. 5 was standing outside the cage, one hand reached through the bars and clasped on his shoulder. He had leaned his head sadly against the bars; apparently, he had thought 2 was dead. He caught his son's attention anew, holding his cold, metal fingers in his own. 5 looked back up and gasped softly with relief; 2 was, in fact, alive.

"I knew you'd come," he whispered back.

9 had come as well, standing not too far away from them. No one else seemed to be with them, but he wasn't surprised. He couldn't believe they had gotten all the way here on their own, or that they had gotten out of the church at all. They must have been very sneaky. He also noted that 9 had found the candlestick holder from his broken head gear, and had put it to new use. Stuck to one end of a spear, with a light bulb stuck in the holder, it was a clever new device. He felt impressed, in spite of the situation.

_He's quick,_ 2 thought.

9 came forward and opened his mouth to say something, but 2 hushed him before he could speak. He silently pointed a little way off, where the Beast was still digging. It had cleared away a patch of the concrete floor and still working away, not paying attention to the cage.

As long as it was still distracted, 9 and 5 ran to the cage door and tried to pry it open with the light-stick's former knife blade. But, of course, the door was jammed and wouldn't open. While 9 continued to struggle with the door, 5 ran to the side; together, he and 2 tried to pull the bars open. They all tried to be as quiet as they could, but the old brass cage rattled and clanged with every move they made. It didn't take long for the Beast to finally see them and charge.

It jumped at them and circled the cage, herding the three of them to the other side. As long as the cage bars were between them and the Beast, they would be relatively safe. But the Beast knew this as well. It raised its terrible claw and smacked the cage out of the way, sending it flying and then bouncing across the floor with 2 still inside.

Finally, the cage hit the wall, rolled on the floor, and was still. 2's whole tiny body ached from the ride, and he couldn't see straight. Somewhere, he could hear the Beast snarling ferociously; but where had 9 and 5 gone?

His vision began to clear just in time for the two boys to skitter around the bend and run to the cage. The bars had been bent and torn open from the Beast's smack, and from its tumbling. Still dizzy but able to stand, 2 climbed out of one of the holes and toppled to the floor. They helped him to his feet and, together, they ran for the exit. _Any_ exit.

But, once again, the Beast saw them and leaped out in their path, blocking them. It advanced on them, forcing them against a wall of debris. As they stumbled back away from it, they all tripped over a piece of wood and fell down on the ground, utterly defenseless. The Beast growled triumphantly, as if to say, "Wow. This was just _too_ easy." It raised its claw again and the tree terrified Stitchpunks flinched.

Then, somewhere overhead, there was a whirring noise, like the blades of a fan. All of them—including the Beast—looked up and saw a new figure poised above them, spinning a bola. Then, with perfect aim and the ease of experience, the mysterious warrior released the bola and sent the heavy stone ends spiraling into the Beast's skull, tangling in its neck bones. While it was distracted, the warrior leaped off his safe high place and onto the Beast itself, grabbing hold of the bola like the reigns of a bucking bronco in a rodeo. The Beast struggled to dismount the persistent warrior, but he held on tight. 2 couldn't believe what he was seeing.

_A tenth? Who is _this_?_

He didn't get to wonder much more; in the Beast's bucking, the warrior lost a piece of his armor and it was sent flying through the air, headed right for them, still stunned on the floor. They just barely ducked in time to miss it as it hit the wall behind them with a clang. It was a piece of PBC piping with a large metal washer lashed to it, so it fitted over the arm like a shield. Stripped of most of his armor—say for his pointy-looking helmet—the warrior apparently decided he was done playing around. Whipping out a spear of his own that they hadn't seen before, the warrior let go of his bola and leaped in the air. Doing a graceful somersault in midair, he came back down on the Beast's back, slashing his spear across the monster's neck. The feline skull fell away from the rest of its skeleton and rolled to the side. The lifeless bones fell in a clattering heap on the floor.

The Beast was dead.

The warrior, completely unharmed, jumped down from the carcass and advanced menacingly on them. His own helmet was the skull of a small bird, his eyes filling the empty sockets and the pointy beak hiding his face. Still holding his sharp, powerful spear and regarding them with his steely, anonymous eyes, they all wondered what he wanted with them now. He had just destroyed the Beast and saved their lives; did he mean to kill them himself?

But the warrior stopped short and drove his spear into the ground beside him, meaning them no harm after all. He lifted his helmet to reveal his face—not the face of a man after all, but of a beautiful young woman with a benevolent smile that 2 and 5 recognized at once.

"7!" 5 exclaimed.

"I don't believe it!" 2 added, jumping to his feet and running to embrace his long-lost daughter, alive and whole as he had always known she was. At a loss for words once again, he threw his arms around her and just held her for a long perfect moment, not caring for an instant about her defensively guarded personal bubble. She hesitated uncomfortably for a second, then dropped her guard and hugged him back.

This was his lucky day after all. Behind them, 5 and 9 had both caught up.

"You've come back!" 5 said, so happy he sounded like he might cry.

"I never left," 7 answered in her deep, smooth voice they had missed so much. Reaching over her shoulder into a small pack on her back, she produced the map he had lost in the dust storm. "_You_ finally decided to join the fight," she corrected.

9 had waited until last to introduce himself. He had retrieved her shield and shyly brought it forward, looking sort of star-struck.

"You… You dropped this," he said bashfully, handing it over. She took her shield and slipped it back on her arm with a thankful smile. While this was going on, 2 stepped away and walked over to the pile of bones on the floor.

"Where have you been hiding?" he heard her ask behind him, but he wasn't really paying attention anymore. The Beast was dead now. It was _definitely_ dead. Not just even merely dead—like, really _most sincerely_ dead. And 7—_his_ 7—had killed it. Where had she been all this time? What had she been doing to become this strong?

Whatever the answers, he felt terrific.

"Stupid pile of rotten—" he muttered triumphantly at the dead monster, kicking one of the lifeless bones sharply, but hurting his own foot in the process. He jumped away with a cry of pain, hopping on one foot and clutching the sore one awkwardly. 5 walked over to help him regain his balance, and 7 joined them, surveying her work proudly.

9 stood apart from them, not entirely sure if he should join them or not. It seemed they had been separated from brave, beautiful 7 for a long time, and decided to leave them alone together for a moment. So none of them saw him turn away and start noticing things.

"Where have you been?" 5 asked his sister.

"Around," she answered. "You know, I actually see you guys from a distance at night."

"…Really?"

"Of course. Why did you think it's always so safe at night?" she said with a mischievous grin. "So… who's he?" she asked, jerking her head back at 9.

"He just appeared this morning," 5 answered. "We're not sure where he came from."

"I think 6 knew he was coming," 2 added. "He wouldn't speak much about it, but I'm sure he knew something about him."

"Hm…" 7 considered with a vague, pensive smile. In the months before she had left, she had rarely smiled. It was good to see her smiling so much again; she had such a winning, pretty smile. "He's kind of cute," she added, glancing back at him.

"What?" 2 and 5 said at the same time, looking over at their new companion and wondering what she meant by that.

They happened to look over just in time to catch 9 messing with things he didn't understand again. Before the Beast had seen them, it had been digging in the trash for something; it had finally found the object of its search, buried under years of debris and dust, and a piece of it had a circular setting with three little raised holes clustered in the center. Unbeknownst to any of them, the Source would be a perfect fit with the setting. The Beast had been about to try it out.

But when 9 and 5 had arrived and the Beast saw them, it had dropped the Source on the ground to chase them. Now 9 had found it in the same place, picked it back up, and had noticed the matching settings, himself. He wondered the same thing the Beast had: _I wonder if it fits? What would happen if I…_

Just as they looked up, they saw him press the Source against the setting, and a loud whirring roar echoed through the building.

"Wait!" 2 exclaimed, running over and pushing 9 out of the way, just a little exasperated. He grabbed hold of Source and tried to pull it off, but it was stuck. "We don't know what it—"

Before he could continue, the whole building shook around them. A monstrous red glare shone bright above their heads like an all-seeing eye. He saw a flash of green light, and he felt it hit him head on. It felt like the light was ripping him apart at the seams. And then… nothing.

2's lucky day was over. His luck had run out, and it wasn't coming back.

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Yup. Happy Birthday, Frieda. Love, Frieda. Are you depressed yet?

On a lighter note, _who gets the birthday smiley? XD_


	3. First Night

There's a Nightmare Before Christmas reference thrown in here somewhere. I thought it fitting, seeing that Tim Burton helped produce the film. It's a _really_ tough one this time. I'll have a smiley waiting for the ones who find it! ;)

So, when last we saw our band of Stitchpunks, they had already lost 2, the church was burning down, and they were heading for the library…

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_First Night_

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As they wandered off the street and back into the library courtyard, 5 wondered vaguely how all of this had happened. His whole life had been turned upside down in a matter of hours, and it just kept tumbling around and around. Ever since 9 showed up that morning, everything had changed so rapidly, none of them could quite keep up. There had been a new shock at the top of almost every hour that entire day:

First, 9 had appeared out of the blue, injured and disoriented, with the terrible news that 2 had been abducted by the Beast. Then together, they had gone out to rescue him—how 9 ever talked him into it, 5 still wasn't sure. And, for a moment, they had actually succeeded, and then 7 reappeared after being missing for almost three long years, and saved their lives. It had turned out to be a good morning after all…

And then they reanimated the Machine by mistake, and the first thing it had done upon awakening was destroy the closest thing it could reach—which happened to be 2. 5 felt sure that he was partially responsible for this somehow, but 9 refused to let him take any of the blame. They, themselves, had barely escaped from the thing with their lives; only 7's quick thinking and wily battle skills had saved them. After this, she had led them to the shelter of the library she now called home, which they discovered she shared with the twins, also alive and fairly happy in their new dwelling place.

The library was big and beautiful, and 5 had wished they could have stayed longer, but duty called. Once they realized exactly what they had set upon the world, it was obvious that they had to do something about it. _Anything_. They could only hide from its wrath for so long; it would find and destroy the rest of them eventually. And, anyway, 9 was determined now to put an end to it, to make up for the tremendous trouble he had caused. Nothing could stop him now—perhaps only set him back a little bit while he caught his breath and, oddly, try to look after the rest of them.

Which was more than everyone knew 1 would do. When they decided to return to the church, 7 had thrown a fit and run away again; sure they had lost her for good this time, there was nothing they could do but move forward. 5 had thought he would cry. How many friends did he have to lose today?

Still, he and 9 went back alone, trying to sneak around certain watchful eyes—only to be caught anyway. 1 was furious about the mess they had caused, and 5 was afraid of what would happen to them next; probably something painful. But 9 seemed to keep noticing things, things that 5 would have missed entirely if someone hadn't pointed them out first. He seemed to have a vague theory that 1 had something to do with why 2 was out by himself in the daytime. It was against his own rules, and plain common sense to begin with. 1 seemed to have his reasons and was happy to defend them; but 9 was just as quick to point out that his reasons just didn't add up to anything legitimate or pleasant.

Even if he was naive and a little too curious for his own good, he was certainly quick-witted and patient. At first, he had tried to reason with 1 to help find a solution, but, of course, their leader wouldn't have any of it.

And then, just what they needed—a mechanical pterodactyl-like monster, built and sent by the Machine to annihilate them all, exploded into the church, knocking their otherwise safe and controlled furnace over and setting the building on fire. 9 had stuck right with them, trying to formulate a plan and keep them together; but 1 had fled all too quickly, pretty much abandoning them to whatever fate they got stuck with.

So much for a fearless leader…

Luckily, 7 had changed her mind about the church and had returned to help them… Only to end up with the monster's stinger stuck in her leg within a minute of arriving—decidedly not her best moment. This time, 9 saved _her_; and, with a little teamwork—and the propeller from the airplane crashed into the roof—they destroyed the monster.

But it was too late to save the church. The flames from the knocked-over furnace swept through the already decaying building like the wildfire it was, forcing them to evacuate. The loss of their home had shaken most of them; they had lived there their whole lives. Everything they had was in that building. 5 thought bitterly of the telescope in the watchtower, stolen by the fire with everything else. Maybe it was only proper; now that 2 was gone, he didn't know if he could have looked at it again.

Luckily, 7 had a home of her own now; despite the company—now including 1 and 8 both—she offered the library for a place of refuge. It was right up the street and more defensible than the church had been.

"And," she had added spitefully, "there are a million place for 1 to run and hide if he gets scared."

And so they trudged back up the street and into the circular courtyard, a mere couple of hours after they had left, with the few possessions they still had on their persons. At the very least, they still had a few weapons—5 had held onto his favored crossbow, the one thing he had successfully built all on his own; 7 had her spear, of course; and 9 had his light stick, not so much a weapon as an incredibly useful tool. And the Machine's creatures of evil didn't seem to tolerate its light very well. 6 hadn't managed to save a single picture from his wall; as cinders blew down the street on the wind, he broke away from the group to chase them, hoping to salvage at least a few pieces of his hard work. But every cinder he managed to catch disintegrated in his hands. By the time they reached the courtyard, he had given up; it was rare to see him exhibit any sort of negative emotion, but he was definitely sad.

_Anything can happen in 24 hours,_ 2 had remarked, not 24 hours ago, in fact. So much had happened already, and it wasn't even tomorrow yet. What could possibly happen _next_?

At the very least, 5 could see one productive thing coming out of all this excitement. Somehow, he had ended up carrying their few pieces of equipment; beside him, 7 had chosen 9—of all people—to help her limp home. Out of the corner of his eye, he tried to get a good look at her face, wondering what was going on in that notoriously flighty mind of hers. As she limped along, her arm over 9's shoulder and his arm around her waist to support her, she looked humiliated, yet not altogether begrudged—perhaps even trying not to let it show just how much she was enjoying it, despite everything happening around her.

5 found this turn of events fascinating and exciting—his best friend, and his sister. From the moment they had seen each other this morning, he had noticed a spark between them, as if, perhaps, 9 had been made specifically for _her_. But, over the course of the day, he kept finding ways to get on her nerves. On the surface, she was furious at him; she knew she had every right to hate him… But she couldn't bring herself to. Deep inside, she was hopelessly attracted to him, and perhaps always would be.

It wasn't obvious to anyone else, thank goodness; but 5 knew his sister too well, even after all the time they had spent apart. He wished there was something he could do to help her, but there was no way she would admit how she felt. Not right now. He had admired and missed her stubbornness while she had been gone; but dealing with it again made him remember what a pain and a stumbling block it really was.

Inside the library, it was very dark and cool after the bright light and heat of the burning church. The stone walls also helped block out the crackling sound of fire devouring the wood and concrete building that echoed down the block. The library walls were of stone and couldn't be so easily destroyed by flame; perhaps the inside could be, filled with its wooden bookshelves and molding books covered in dust, but the walls, at least, would remain standing.

However, sturdy as the building was, the roof had still taken damage during the war. There were a few large holes in the roof, and the shining full moon was visible through all of them. Moonlight flooded through in eerie patches of pale, milky light, illuminating large areas of the building at a time. It wasn't as bright as sunlight, but it was enough.

When they were safely inside, they all regrouped beside a toppled pile of books. 5 set down the spear and the light stick, then took off his own pack to find a needle and some thread—he carried both at all times. He threaded the needle, and 9 set 7 down a book beside him. Once again, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed how she slipped, exhausted, off his shoulder, like molasses—slow and reluctant.

_It's amazing how much you can notice with only one eye,_ he marveled as he began to stitch. The monster's stinger had left a pretty bad rip in 7's leg, and she would carry the scar for the rest of her life, but worse things had happened. He had a feeling she wouldn't mind it much, as long as she could walk on her own again. If there was one thing she hated, it was being rendered invalid; once her leg was fixed, her mood would probably improve greatly.

In the meantime, 9 remained close by. He stood apart from them, giving them plenty of space, gazing off at the moon through the hole in the roof, thinking to himself.

"There will be more," he said, turning to them, "won't there?"

It was a terrifying question, but it had to be faced. The monster at the church hadn't been a warning, it had been a promise: it was either the diminutive eight of them or the all-powerful Machine and it's ever-growing army of war drones. They could never stop battling each other until one clan or the other was completely wiped out. Their few touchés against each other were just a taste of what would come in the future.

But, as shaken as they all were from today's adventures, perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult. The library was a good base. They had all the information for anything they could possibly need in the hundreds of books all around them. They had a passable doctor and two excellent warriors, an apparent prophet and two learned scholars; and, if things continued to go the way they were, they had a new leader. A strong leader who actually cared about them. And that was the most important thing of all. As long as they stuck together—no more running away, no more cloistering themselves away from each other, no more fighting—maybe they actually had, dare they think it, a shot at winning their survival.

But, naturally, 1 was more than dubious about that. Desperately clinging to whatever scrap of leadership he had left, he jumped in and changed the subject before anyone could respond to 9's remark.

"It isn't safe here," he insisted, his shifty eyes darting around the sheltered, moonlit space. "I'll seek us out a _safer_ retreat," he said decidedly, as if he actually cared, and turned to leave. Not too far away from them, 8 had found a spot for himself and was just about to settle down when—

"8, go stand watch," 1 commanded as he left.

8 looked incredibly disappointed, but didn't argue with his master. No one else liked 1, but 8 would follow him anywhere, it seemed. So, taking his tea-strainer helmet and butter knife-claymore, he loomed away to the entrance to stand watch like he was told. At last, all unpleasantness was gone.

_Why must he do this?_ 5 thought to himself, finishing his work. _He's seen what we can do; and, even if we lost the church, we did alright. We all made it out alive. Even _I'm_ feeling a little braver. After all that's happened today, I feel like I can do anything. But he still thinks the only way we can survive is by running and hiding whenever trouble presents itself. Who is _he_ to decide that? He's hardly even our leader anymore…_

…_Yeah. As of tonight, I do believe 1 has lost his pedestal. The first thing 9 is going to do with it is chop it down a few feet. I'll bet the next thing he'll do is make 7 his right hand. I can't wait. _

As he finished his stitching, the twins materialized out of the shadows, babbling away in their flicker-speak.

"_Wow, that fire scared us! We thought you guys might have died!"_

"_We would have come out sooner, but there was no way we were bumping into 1 again; he's still scary, huh?"_

"_Hey, we were thinking about it earlier, and we think we actually have seen that thing you were talking about, in another book," _4 announced, turning to the wall and projecting a recorded image onto the wall; the light cast an eerie golden glow over the space. It was the picture 9 had drawn before they had left that afternoon, a badly-shaped circle with three strange symbols inside. Somewhere nearby, someone gasped excitedly; half-forgotten in a corner, 6 had been working on the first of many new drawings. But, seeing the familiar projection on the wall, he picked up the new drawing and came forward to get a better look.

Holding his twin steady, 3 added, _"We know right where the book is, if you're still interested. We can take you right to it."_

While this was going on, 5 had completed his work, and 7 stood up on her own. Indeed, she seemed relieved and much happier. But 4's projector shut off, leaving the space several shades darker, and ran off with her brother, prompting everyone to follow them.

_This is going to be interesting…_ 5 thought, trying not to feel nervous as he picked up the light stick and spear, and followed his friends. 9 hung back to let him catch up, but he seemed to have something else on his mind. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure 7 was too far ahead to hear if he kept his voice low.

"Is she going to be alright?"

"7? She'll be fine," 5 insisted, handing over the light stick. "Just give her some time. She's never been particularly easy to get along with right away. Still… She's changed since I last saw her."

They continued walking, and 9 turned on the light stick. "What was she like?"

"In the beginning, she smiled a lot… But that didn't last for long. I remember there was a time she even used to sing."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She has an incredible voice… But that was years ago. I really miss her; the 7 I knew is gone. I'm never going to see her again."

"What happened to her? What could have made her like this?"

5 hesitated. It was a long and depressing story, and it wasn't really his to tell.

"…1 had a lot to do with it," he said slowly.

9 nodded understandingly and didn't say another word. The single vague remark spoke volumes; maybe he didn't want to know the rest. For himself, 5 wished he could erase the details of the story from his memory.

Ahead of them, 7 had stopped to let them catch up. She was trying to keep her expression neutral and blank, but she looked sort of annoyed with them.

"You have to keep up with us; you'll get lost," she scolded gently.

"We're sorry," 5 said sheepishly, handing her spear back. She took it and held it solidly. Spear: check. Helmet: check. Shield: check. Leg: check. Now she was complete again.

"We're almost there. I think I know where they're taking us," she said, and led the way forward.

The twins were only a little way ahead of them, waiting patient and silently. The light flooded into the space, illuminating more books scattered on the floor, but one in particular that had been propped up and opened to somewhere in the middle. The pages were faded and gold with age, scripted with black text that few present could actually read.

Once they had all gathered around, 3 and 4 began turning the pages, coming to rest at the beginning of a new chapter, titled in what looked and sounded like Latin. 9 handed 5 the light stick and walked up to get a better look.

_Transmutata Vitae_, 5 thought slowly, trying to sound out the words in his head. _…Transmuting life?_

Being unable to read well, 7 and 9 both relied more on the illustration below the chapter title. It seemed to demonstrate what exactly this _transmutata vitae_ was. A man—clearly human, and alive—sat before a small figure that appeared to be human, like a small statue or a doll. The man held a sort of mask in front of his face. Wavy lines passed between the man and the lifeless figure, seeming to indicate some kind of energy being passed from the man into his creation.

This was starting to look very familiar…

One the other page, along with some more unreadable Latin text, the symbols appeared again. They sat in the same position as always, in a circle—one for each eye, and one for the mouth. Once again, 6 came forward and held his drawing up over the illustration, affirming that it was, indeed, one and the same.

"But… what is it?" 9 asked him.

"The Source," 6 answered factually, as if it was obvious and 9 was silly for not knowing.

But 9 wasn't satisfied. "The thing that woke the Machine?" he insisted impatiently, holding 6 by the shoulders so he couldn't get away.

6 hesitated for a moment, unused to people asking his opinion on anything. "Go back… Go back," he babbled ardently, nervous but pleased that he finally mattered.

"Go back to where?"

"Dark science," growled a voice behind them. While they hadn't been looking, 1 had found them and entered the illuminated space, and now he advanced into the light. "Human nonsense; forget it."

"You know something," 9 insisted, earning a furious glare. "What do you know?" he demanded.

"I know enough to leave their ancient evils to molder. Look what they've left us with. Leave it be, I say," 1 snapped back, his voice beginning to rise.

"But _you_," he continued, casting an accusing finger at 9, "always asking questions—so many pointless questions! Always probing, pushing—like 2! He always had to know too much!" he fumed, slashing his hand across the book page and tearing the middle away.

"I was right!" 9 exclaimed. "You _did_ send him out to die!"

"He was old! He was weak!" 1 yelled back.

5 couldn't believe what he had just heard. It was so obvious, and it explained everything, but it didn't seem like it should be real. It was ridiculous, but he wasn't sure why. Why was he so shocked by this? Was it just the shock of hearing the mastermind of his father's death confess? Was it that 1 felt no remorse for what he had done today? Was it that he had confessed the way he did in front of the children?

Or maybe it simply that he had been dumb enough to say all this in front of 7, who was now simmering with rage.

"Sometimes, one must be sacrificed for the good of many," 1 concluded calmly, as if it justified everything.

5 felt something in the air pop like a champagne cork as 7 sprung forward like a lightning bolt.

You coward!" she screamed, almost unintelligible. She pinned 1 against the book, her spear pressed against his neck. 5 jumped away, terrified of what was going to happen next; the twins yelped in the form of rapid, high pitched flickers and skittered behind him, shaking with fear.

_She's going to kill him! She's really going to kill him!_ 5 thought, not entirely sure how to feel about this. 7's wrath had filled the room, and the menacing energy was frightening. And when she sliced his head clean off his body, what would happen then? Should they be happy? Scared? Even a little sad to have lost another of their precious few? But she hesitated a second too long.

"7!"

9 hadn't been fazed much. He hadn't been blinded by fear and rage like the rest of them, and could see the situation clearly. And he wasn't about to let 7 do something she couldn't take back later out of blind anger. But she wouldn't back down… would she?

To 5's surprise, she did. She paused, as if waking from a dream, not entirely sure what she was doing. 1 scoffed petulantly at her, as if to say, "I knew you didn't _really_ have the nerve to do it, woman." Defeated, humiliated and a little confused, she slowly lowered her spear and backed away, looking suddenly numb. 5 could see all her hatred and rage, built to a head all these hours—even all these years—melt away, dissolving into bitter grief and devastation. Before anyone could say anything to her, she turned and ran off alone into the darkness.

And, just like that, 7 was gone. Again.

Daring to feel as if he had been wronged, 1 straightened himself indignantly and brushed his arms, like he had been touched by a plague. He returned his vituperative glare to 9, probably having forgotten the rest of them were even there, and stalked away.

"Your path leads us to catastrophe," he hissed as he left. A last, he was gone.

_What did he hope to accomplish by coming here, anyway?_ 5 wondered angrily. _He only came here to start a fight. Typical._

Still unmoved, 9 patiently regarded the rest of them, clustered fearfully together in a corner. 5 still held the light stick by his side; the twins still cowered behind him, though they had stopped shaking. Beside them, 6 huddled nervously behind his drawing, holding it in front of himself like a shield. 7 had run away again, 1 refused to cooperate—not that they particularly wished he would, anymore—and no one knew where 8 was now. Were they all that was left?

9 contemplated everything silently, then said decidedly, "We have to go back."

"Back?" 5 asked. "Where?"

"To the First Room," 9 answered solidly, "where I woke."

5 shivered. He had meant to never go back to that place—none of them had. It was where they had all been born, and the last place anyone had seen their creator alive; but mostly, it was a place of frustration and fear, planted there in days long past. What did 9 think they would find there? But it dawned on 5 that he wasn't really worried about this. He would rather follow 9 into the unknown and get something accomplished, than follow 1 and end up—as 7 so excellently put it—locked away while the nightmare continued to unfold outside, without control or solution.

5 wasn't sure where he fit into the hierarchy anymore, but 9 was at the top now, as far as he was concerned. Certainly, it would be dangerous; but hadn't it always been? More than just his bold new leader, 9 was his friend; and he firmly decided to do what any good friend would do: everything he could.

"When do we leave?" he asked, feeling empowered and excited. Even the twins came out from behind him to be a part of the discussion.

"We can't go without 7," 9 decided quickly.

"That could take a while."

"Then we'll stay here and start in the morning. It's been a long day; we should all rest a while."

Wow. Rest sounded really good all of a sudden. 5 hadn't had time to think about it much, but the day's events had left him exhausted. With little more discussion, they all lay down in the space, and 9 turned out the light. Only 6 remained awake, taking this opportunity to work more on his drawing.

"6, you should go to sleep," 5 insisted gently.

6 made an apologetic face and looked at his drawing regretfully. He sighed sadly, then flopped down on the floor, probably sound asleep before his head hit the ground. 5 smiled and sighed himself, amused by his brother's antics. Was he too crazy to understand the danger they would be walking into in the morning, or too crazy to be bothered much by it?

As he slipped off to sleep, feeling sort of excited about what tomorrow would be like after all that had changed today, 5 wondered the same thing about himself…

2222222222

It seemed like mere moments later when flicker-speak woke him again.

"_5, come on! Time to get up!"_

Wondering how long he had really been asleep, 5 sat up and found 3 sitting beside him expectantly.

"How long has it been? What time is it?" he asked groggily.

"_It's been hours; 4 and I meant to wake everyone up a little earlier, but we slept kinda late. Sorry."_

Kind of late? O.o

"It's really alright, 3. What time did you say it was?"

"_I didn't. It's just past me!"_

Three o'clock in the morning; so it was the long-awaited new day. Only 21 hours remained in it, but still: anything could happen. 2 had said before that he found the idea exciting and invigorating, that it meant new opportunities and new surprises; at the time, 5 had only found such a profound idea unnerving and troublesome. _Anything_ could happen? Things he most likely had no control over?

But look at him now. Everything had happened to him already, and he was alive. He had survived it all, and was now fairly safe on the other side. Now he just had to get up and do it again. All of a sudden, now that he knew he could actually do it, it didn't seem so difficult anymore. He stood up and looked around the dark space. 6 was still sound asleep nearby; but 4 and 9 were missing, and the light stick was gone.

"Where did they go?" he asked.

"_I'm not sure,"_ 3 admitted with a shrug. _"9 just wandered off a few minutes ago, and 4 went with him so he won't get lost."_

"Why would he do that?"

"_Dunno. He had asked if 7 came back, but she hasn't; maybe he went looking for her."_

"I hope she doesn't bite his head off when he finds her," 5 said with a joking smile.

3 laughed a rapid sputter of flickers. _"Nah, she wouldn't do that. She pretends to be mad at him, but you can tell she really likes him. I've never seen her like this. Have you?"_

"Can't say I have."

3 made a pensive face. _"It's strange. If she weren't so upset, she'd be happy enough to bounce around like me and 4. I like it and I hope she stays this way. She should unwind herself and enjoy it. I mean, it's not like she's good at hiding it or anything."_

It was true. Who was 7 trying to fool, anyway? She had always tried to present herself as stone, only revealing her emotions when no one could see her, but she had never been particularly good at it. She unwittingly wore her emotions on her sleeve, largely unaware of how obvious they were to everyone else. In the past, 5 had never mentioned it, instead allowing his sister to think she was winning; it was better for everyone in the long run. But now he wondered if he should tell her the truth.

Dawn was still a few hours away, and the patches of moonlight had changed position since they had fallen asleep; without the light stick, the space was very dark and a little hard to see in. So they sat back down and waited for their companions to return. Beside him, 3 snuggled close and gave him a happy hug.

"_I never got a chance to say before, but I'm really glad you're all back. We really were scared when we saw the fire; if one of you had been hurt, we would have cried and cried and cried. We were so happy to see you all alive."_

5 hugged him back, thinking how great this morning had started out. He hated to say he had a favorite, but he had always been particularly fond of his nephew. He was only a little boy, but he had a brilliance and childlike manner that everyone admired. And, certainly, 4 was the same, but she had always been the quiet type, with a cautious curiosity that bound her to listen to her elders. There was nothing cautious about 3's curiosity—he usually jumped right into trouble without looking, or hearing right away when someone warned him to stop.

Being somewhat overly cautious, himself, 5 had always admired this extreme; though he was glad that, if he had to be bound to an extreme, it was the safer one.

All at once, it occurred to him that each of them seemed bound to some extreme—incredibly smart, incredibly dumb; incredibly strong, incredibly weak; incredibly quick, incredibly slow—but never truly anywhere in the middle. There was an extreme for everyone… But where did 9 fall? What was his extreme? Too curious? Too naive? Too nice? All their extremes together seemed to make up an entirely different yet singular person, with different body parts that had their own function, but they could easily work together. As time passed in the dark, 5 contemplated this fascinating new idea; it rolled around in his mind like a snowball, getting bigger and bigger as he continued to entertain it.

7—the only one of them brave enough to get up and go anywhere—was definitely the legs, strong, powerful and swift. He supposed, then, that 8 must be the arms, also strong and powerful, but stuck at the command of the brain, which had been 1 for the most part. 2 had been the spine, holding them all together. The twins were most certainly the eyes, always seeking knowledge and searching for the truth. The only possible part for 6 to play was the imagination, which could dream, see, understand and believe all things for no apparent reason—and it certainly kept the other pieces of the body from being bored; while the imagination was at play, you always have to keep on your toes.

_I suppose I'm like the neck,_ 5 thought. _There's not a lot I can do, I guess. But when one of my friends is falling down, I hold them up, don't I? I guess that makes me loyal. I had never thought of that before._

So, that was a whole body… But what was 9's purpose in this body that seemed to have everything it needed? 5 was convinced his friend was here to replace 1 as the brain; the body seemed a bit brain-dead as of now, unsure who the brain actually was. Some accepted the new brain, some rejected it, some resisted it… Oh well; he had only been here a day yet. Perhaps only time and more adventures would tell exactly what he was here to do.

But all this thinking about bodies and personality extremes made him think once again of the _transmutata vitae_. Perhaps the ideas were intertwined somehow? Deep in the core of his being, 5 felt a strange, unexplainable connection with the illustration in the book, not two feet away from him. Why did it feel so familiar?

Suddenly, a beam of light shone into the space and startled 5 from his thoughts.

_Oh… I have thoughts to be startled from now, _he thought, feeling good about himself.

Of course, it was only 9 and 4, returning from their search. They walked in looking kind of disappointed and maybe a bit worried, and 7 wasn't with them.

"_Don't worry,"_ 4 was saying to 9 as they came in. _"She's in here somewhere. I'm sure she'll come out… sometime."_

'Thank you for helping me look, 4," 9 answered with a smile. "You are _sure_ you don't need any more sleep?"

4 beamed proudly and shook her hooded head sharply. _"Nah. I'm pumped! I'm excited I get to go with you this time!"_

9 sighed, not sure what to answer that with right away; he stalled by patting her head. "It will be exciting, alright," he agreed slowly.

Once again, there was that rapid flickering laugh. 9 seemed to have gravitated to 4, the same as 5 had gravitated to 3. But 5 wasn't entirely surprised; she was a charming little girl—what with her sweet smile, feminine personality, quiet nature and pristine innocence, 4 was everything that a little girl ought to be. If 7 had been a child, she would have been very much like the child she had raised.

So no, 5 was not surprised at all that 9 favored 4 slightly over her twin. For herself, 4 seemed to favor 9 right back. That boded well.

_Huh. Four plus five equals nine. Go figure,_ 5 thought with a smirk. Then 4 turned around and noticed them.

"_Oh good! You're awake!"_ Planting her fists sternly on her hips, she asked, _"3, did you fall back to sleep?"_

"_Nah; I'm just happy,"_ 3 answered lazily, sitting back up with a smile.

"_I was about to say. We've got too much to do to lie around and sleep."_

"It's not even dawn yet," 9 pointed out. "The Machine isn't going anywhere."

"_All the more reason to get started, while it thinks our guard is down."_

9 didn't actually seem to hear her; he looked troubled. They were together, and that was good. But three of them were still missing. Five was a good-sized team… But two of the five were children who would need supervision, one of them was next to useless in a fix, and they had no warriors. The journey today was going to be difficult—perhaps not impossible, but certainly difficult—if they didn't find 7, at least, and soon.

"Has _no_ one come back?" 9 asked the air, sounding exasperated and worried. "Where _are_ they?"

"They're in the building, somewhere," 5 insisted, standing up to join his friend.

"How do you know?"

"7 won't leave the twins alone at night; 1 wouldn't run off one his own, no matter how mad he is; and 8 won't leave his post—he'd fight for it before retreating."

"Is that just the way he is, or did something happen to him, too?"

"…A little bit of both, I think."

9 sighed sadly and shook his head. "I wish she'd come back. I… need her."

_And not just for the manpower, either. You kind of… love her, don't you?_ 5 sort of wanted to say it out loud, to see what feelings would arise. But, with the twins nearby and 6 finally starting to wake up, he didn't think it was appropriate. He also didn't know how comforting it would be, but he decided to share his new philosophy with his worried friend.

"A whole day is a lot of time, 9. Anything can happen."

There were a lot of ways to take that comment; but 9 did seem a little comforted, offering a weak but genuine smile.

"Thanks."

But, all at once, the first something of the day happened. A terrified cry for help echoed out of the darkness, and then everything went deadly still. It sounded like 1, and it sounded like something had attacked him. Without thinking much beyond one of their remaining comrades being in trouble, 5 and 9 grabbed up their weapons and dashed out into the darkness.

"Find her!" 9 yelled over his shoulder to the twins as he ran. The light stick illuminated their path, but they had no idea where they were going in the big, dark building. The patches of moonlight cast eerie, suspicious shadows against every all, and there was no sound except their own footfalls. Another sound echoed around them suddenly—a hissing, whirring, clicking noise that could only belong to some frightening creation of the Machine's design. Finally having a lead, they followed the ominous sound toward the front entrance.

_Please let 7 be nearby…_

Rounding a wall of books, 5 barely got a chance to look at the monster—a snake-like thing with a body of cloth-covered metal gears and wires, half a human skull and a single red, glowing eye for a head, and a spiny crest around its neck, like a vampire. But almost as soon as they had arrived, the monster saw them with its one eye and screeched painfully. Then he saw a pair of bright lights flashing in front of his face, and for a few long moments he knew nothing else but the hypnotizing lights. At first, he could faintly hear 9 calling his name, telling him not to look, but it was too late.

Fortunately, he came around quickly. He found himself standing frozen in place, but still clutching his crossbow in a death grip. But in the moments he had been unconscious, he had missed a lot: they had managed to save 1 before the monster could take him, but he was still stunned, bound tight with thick red thread. 9 knelt beside him, trying to cut the thread with a knife. Meanwhile, 7 had come out to help them—only to get caught again. The monster had her by an arm and a leg, one of its scissor-like pincers raised high to slice her in half.

Kind of angry, wondering why 9 was wasting his time, risking his life like this instead of trying to save his lady fair, 5 aimed the crossbow, and pulled the trigger. The arrow flew perfectly into the monster's head, not damaging it much, but certainly distracting it. Now everyone looked up and realized that he was battle-ready once again, and that, for the first time, he had_ actually_ hit his target squarely.

_I must be getting better at this!_

Seeing another one of its enemies on his feet and armed, the monster decided to hedge its bets—it had 7 alive and whole, and by now it probably had 8, as well. It turned and slithered off at an impossible speed, with 7 still trapped in its clutches. In a panic, 9 finally abandoned what he had been doing and sprinted after the monster with a cry of dismay. He grabbed onto the monster's tail—slashed short in the moments 5 had been unconscious—and was dragged off into the darkness.

5 felt stunned again. He had missed almost the entire battle, and, once again, hadn't been much help. 7 was gone, probably for good this time. 9 had followed after them, but he had no prayer of stopping the thing on his own; even if he did, how would he stand up to it without help, in the dark, in the haze of panic?

There wasn't exactly an opportune time for the twins to run in at all; but, with the monster gone, 1 still unconscious on the floor, and an undeserving stillness settled, it was as good a moment as any. 3 and 4 dashed in with 6 right behind them, bringing with them that unsettled energy that matched 5's mood much better.

"_5, we found her!'_

"_She's on her way! Has she come?"_

"_Wait… Where is everyone?"_

"_What happened?"_

The three of them gazed around the space, confused and suddenly worried in light of their small victory.

"_5, where's our mother?" _3 asked nervously.

"_And 9! Where's 9?"_ 4 asked fretfully, perhaps coming close to tears.

5 had no idea what to say to them. If only 9 _were_ here, he would have known what words to use. He always seemed to know what words to use in front of them.

For himself, 5 wasn't sure what to think. He stood up, still unable to say anything, and reached for his sister's spear, dropped on the floor. The simple action spoke enough for the twins: the spear was still there, and 7 wasn't. She had been taken. Terrified, 4 covered her eyes and began to cry miserably; not quite as easily moved to tears, 3 put his arms around her and held her defensively close. In that long, painful moment, they were all they had left.

Mere moments later, 1 suddenly reanimated with a strangled scream of unpleasant surprise, still bound loosely in the red threads. As he skittered back against a wall of books he brushed the cut threads off, whimpering fearfully.

5 ignored him spitefully. _Serves him right._

At the very same time, 9 ran back into the space, looking shaken. "We have to help them!" he exclaimed frantically, mostly at 1—the only member of the remaining group who would need convincing.

As it was, 1 didn't seem to register what was said, even though it had been yelled. He looked around, disoriented and terrified, with no idea what had just happened. He seemed to notice at once that two very prominent personalities were missing.

"…8? Where's 8?" he demanded shakily, already fearing the worst.

"The monster has them! It's taking them back to the Machine," 9 answered urgently, pointing back the way he had come.

1 shrank into himself fearfully, painfully relinquishing any shred of hope he had for his only "friend".

"Then it is too late," he whispered, more a statement to himself, to reassure himself that it was the end.

5 firmly decided to stay out of the impending fight. He looked off to the side and saw a strange shape lying in a pile on the floor. He couldn't see clearly what it was in the dark, and so walked up to see. If he thought he was stunned before, he was wrong. What he had found was a small, lifeless body crafted from burlap and leather, which appeared to have been severed from the monster's tail while he had been unconscious.

He felt his core shatter to pieces all over again, as he realized it was 2.

_The Machine did this!_ He realized furiously. _He built my father's body into one of Its monsters, and used him against us! Somehow, It knew that we would hesitate too long before attacking one of our own. It knew It could lower our defenses that way. Somehow It knew… Somehow…_

_This is wrong. This is sick and so wrong. And there's nothing any of us can do about it now._

Nearby, 1 and 9 were, indeed, fighting again. But this time, 9 was seriously winning. He seemed to be the only one with enough spirit left to bother fighting at all.

1 had stumbled to his feet and began backing away into the shadows. "We have to get out of here," he stammered nervously. "We must try to find another safe place—"

"No more hiding!" 9 interrupted. "We're going after them. _All_ of us."

1 regained enough of his former self to bristle a little, but not enough to be really intimidating. Mostly, he seemed tired and frightened, like an old man trying to pretend to be annoyed for the attention he desperately craved.

"Need I remind you of your _last_ heroic venture?" he demanded, pointing stormily to where 2's body lay.

Already, 5 had knelt down and begun to straighten the mangled body as best he could. Once again, he surprised himself: as he touched his father's cold, lifeless skin—lying him flat on his back and reverently crossing his hands over his chest—he felt sure that he would break down and cry… But he didn't. He wasn't sure why; his very nature merited it. And surely, even if all the rest of them were killed in due course, none of them deserved mourning like 2 did now. To have lived the life he had—a strong, willful life of subsequent abuse and attack—only to have his very soul ripped out, and then to have his body used to attack and destroy the ones he loved and called his children… Why would the invisible, empty tears not come? What had happened?

What had happened, indeed?

9 came and knelt beside him, his presence solid and reassuring. But he was impossibly burdened with guilt and regret for the trouble he had caused. And he was terrified—not for himself, but for 7 and 8, and what was going to happen to them if no one came to help them. No matter what other conflicting feelings were tearing at his mind, one thing was certain: this battle had been lost, but the war was certainly not over. Not by a long shot.

"I can't let this happen to them."

He looked up and contemplated each of them slowly. There was no question about it now. In the last few seconds, something unspoken and unseen had happened, and 9 had become their new leader. At last, it dawned on 5 what essential part of this body his friend was meant to be.

_9 is the heart. When the rest of us have given up and collapsed, unable to go on, he keeps going; he never stops. And, somehow, that spirit that refuses to give up on anything inspires us to get back up and keep going, too. He keeps up alive. He keeps us beating. But he doesn't command or control, like the brain. He guides us, and leads us, and lets us act on our own because we can without messing up. The brain doesn't believe that is so, but the heart does. He has faith and hope in his team. _

_And we have faith and hope in him, too._

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Even though 7 and 8 were great peril, and might not last long if help didn't come soon, the remaining team decided to wait a little longer before leaving. Since they might not return from their mission, it was only right to lay 2 to rest before they left, while there was still someone alive to do it.

The quickest way to do this happily turned out to be the most grand and most fitting. It was the fountain by the main entrance, and the bronze statue of the victorious maiden. The fountain was dead, the waters ceased to run as they once had; the moonlight still sparkled on the water, making it glow milky and almost iridescent. The statue stood raised on a short pillar in the center of the fountain; inside the pillar was the broken motor which used to cycle the water through. The only opening to the inside of the pillar was a small grate, the spaces of which were just big enough for a Stitchpunk to get between.

So they placed the body of their beloved father on a piece of splintered wood, and set it to drift to safety beneath the pillar, where the maiden would surely watch over it. The twins had commented that this was sort of like the way that the Vikings buried their warriors in ancient times; and that the Vikings had believed in a place called Valhalla, a hallowed place beyond time and space, where the souls of warriors dwelt in peace.

Of course, none of them knew anything about the Vikings; but the idea of Valhalla was beautiful. 5 hoped that 2's soul had gone there, and was at rest for the first time. No one deserved more to be at rest. Not after all that had happened.

But once this was done, there was no time to lose in leaving the library and setting out once again for the factory. The monster was probably half-way there by now, the way it moved so speedily. Luckily, 5 and 9 both remembered the fastest way there. It wouldn't be too arduous, even for the children, who still insisted on coming with them.

"_You guys aren't abandoning 7, and neither will we,_" 3 informed them.

"_She's our mother; we love her too, you know,"_ 4 added.

Surprising; it was their first time out of the library in three years, and it didn't strike them for a second as monumental. In fact, it was like they were wearing blinders. Their mother was in danger, and they had an opportunity to help save her life. Everything around them that might be examined and cataloged was unimportant; it barely existed to them, say to pose an obstacle to be scrambled over or skittered around in the dark.

They were making excellent time. The sun might beat them, but they were doing very well. 9 led them forward, light-stick in hand to illuminate their way, and 5 stayed close by. The twins were usually just ahead of them, anxious to reach their destination, but always remaining in sight. 6 trotted alongside them like a faithful dog, unwilling to get far from his friend's sides, but stopping occasionally to look at things along the way. And 1 trudged behind them, not sure whether he wanted to be part of the team or not.

For a while they traveled in silence. But it didn't last; once they had established a pace everyone was comfortable with, 9 turned seriously to 5.

"We need to figure out a plan," he said. "We have to figure out the best way to get inside the factory and out again without being detected much, if at all."

"That's going to be difficult," 5 pointed out. "We don't know the building very well. Only that one exit we used yesterday."

"Then that will have to do for now. Once we get there and actually see the building, perhaps we can plan a little better."

"What do you think we'll do, once we're inside?"

"I have no idea; but I'm sure I'll think of something. Anyway, I think it would be better if I went in alone."

"You can't fight the Machine by yourself! I should go with you, at least."

"I can only drag the children into this so far. And if anything happens to me, I need you to take care of them."

5 was taken aback. Did this mean that _he_ was the new beta? Of course, there was no one else to choose from, really, but… He was the right hand? The one who would be left in charge, should the leader fail? He hardly felt up to the challenge… But if 9 thought he could do it, then surely he could.

"9, sometimes I think you must be insane," he commented. "But then I remember how much like 2 you are, and then everything makes sense again. It's almost like he's still here."

9 smiled. "Thanks."

Death was almost certain, and their chances of success were laughable, at best. They had no warriors, and three too many children to look after. Their road was still long, and their friends were in danger _now_. They did have a competent new leader, but he didn't have a plan, and had chosen the most unlikely right hand imaginable.

Not the best odds… But, all things considered, not the worst, either.


	4. Red Day

The fact that 6 follows 5 so nicely is mostly a coincidence. You may have noticed that the scenes don't exactly go in chronological order, and I meant for that to happen. It's really just been a matter of when inspiration struck.

Slight twists are rampant in the action scenes, expressly for the sake of story-telling. But it's not like you care, because you're not reading _The Other Eyes Saga_ and watching _9_ at the same time and going, "Hey, that's not how it happened!" I also wrote a good bit of this while waiting in line at the opening of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows pt. II, which may have contributed to all the twists that have been twisted up in this chapter... Do I know how to multi-task or what? 8D

Also, heavy on Christian symbolism, 'cause, well... It's 6. I've said it before to other people, but the fact that God doesn't appear to be present in _9_ only serves to highlight how present He is. It's just the way I roll. :P

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_Red Day_

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6 had been puzzling over everything for the past hour-and-a-half, and he still didn't entirely understand what was going on. 7 and 8 were in danger, and that was why they were traveling through the ruins in the dark. But it had nothing to do with the Source, as far as he could see. The Source was the important thing, after all; he thought he had made this pretty clear before.

Oh, how happy he had been when 9, the one of promise, had finally arrived. It was obvious who he was; 6 had been plagued by strange dreams and cryptic whispers in the night about him coming for several years. He had hoped, being the one of promise, that 9 would be able to understand him better than the others seemed to—even though he seemed to speak just as clearly as the rest of them. But, alas, 9 seemed to understand even less of what he was trying to say, and it was maddening.

6 had no clue at all of how mentally unhinged he was; in his head, he was the only sane member of their group, and everyone else around him was nuts. Why else could they be unable to understand him? He made his points as simple as he could for them, and it still seemed beyond their comprehension.

But, at least, 9 was making an honest effort to figure it all out, in spite of how pathetically uninformed he was. No one had ever asked 6 for his opinion or advise on anything before, and he was glad that this was changing. 9 was quick enough to see that the Source was important, but he was so easily distracted; irrelevant things kept clouding his focus, making him forget what he was here to do. Surely he knew why he was here, didn't he?

Well, maybe he didn't. But 6 knew. He had come to get the Source back. Where it had gone was a mystery, but 9 was here to find it and return its power to them, the Stitchpunks, to whom it belonged—literally—by birthright. What they would do with it afterward was also uncertain; but their shiny new leader with the shiny brass zipper on his front would surely figure that out in time, as well.

But he was never going to do any this if he didn't stay focused for more than a few minutes. Every time he remembered to ask 6 about it, very little information was exchanged before something—usually 1—broke in and distracted everyone. Then it could be hours before anyone remembered him again. He was never going to be able to explain it well enough for it to matter at this rate.

At this particular moment, as their remaining company traveled quickly and quietly through the ruins, 9 was distracted by their missing members, snatched by a monster mere hours ago, and likely still alive somewhere. Feh, who was he kidding? It was nicer to think that he cared about 7 and 8 both, but it was obvious that 7 was a bigger priority. 9 had a soft spot for her that was clear, but hard for 6 to understand, especially when there was such important work to be done. As long as she was on his mind, there was no time to think about the Source.

Once again, maddening.

So, as he walked, making sure to stay close to the scatterbrained but fearless leader, he considered what he did know for the fifth time since they started off.7 and 8 were in trouble. The company was on a mission to save them. They had no idea where the Source was, and no one else particularly cared. It was simple, he knew, but it boggled his mind. Hadn't he been saying that the Source was important? Why one earth didn't they care? Were they all _that_ retarded? _Really_?

But there was nothing he could do but follow them and hope that something would eventually come of it.

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At the rate they were going, in the fairly large group they were in, it took them until dawn to reach the property that the Machine reigned supreme over. The factory that was its fortress was huge and terrifying. Apparently, 9 and 5 had been here earlier—6 remembered 1 being furious about it yesterday afternoon, and the two heroes had spent the better part of the journey quietly making plans to infiltrate the building. 6 stayed out of their business, but he heard them discuss more than once where they would enter from, how much time they could afford to spend inside, and how to combat any mechanical monsters they might encounter. He had also heard 5 insist several times that they should go in together, but 9 didn't seem to like this idea much. He needed _someone_ to stay and look after the rest of them while he was inside, and he certainly didn't trust 1 to do it.

So… 6 took this to mean that 9 was leaving 5 in charge while he did whatever he was planning to do. He wasn't sure how to feel about this; he had sort of forgotten that 5 even existed until a few hours ago. The last really clear memory he had of his brother was actually his back, his name scripted in black ink between his shoulders, as he stood in a doorway, blocking the view of something unpleasant. What he had been blocking, 6 couldn't remember; but it had been something that 2—rest his soul—hadn't wanted him or the twins to see, so 5 had stood guard.

He decided to take this as being good. If 9 had to be away from them, 5 would guard them well, he supposed. Not that he had the sense to feel particularly vulnerable in the first place, but knowing they had a right-hand who wouldn't hit him made him feel safe.

They didn't even waste any time looking at the factory. 5 and 9 marched right into the property, prompting the others to follow them. Indeed, they seemed to know where they were going; they headed in a steady direction, without hesitation. That is, until a loud droning noise echoes through the sky above them. They all looked up to see a new monster, composed of a paper balloon, a candle, a fire bellows and a search light sailing in the sky, headed right towards them.

"Get behind something, quick!" 9 directed them, pointing at a jumble of metal nearby. The six of them scrambled under it into the tiny space, just barely in time for the probe to miss them. It was a tight fit and a tense wait as the probe loomed closer, and none of them dared to breathe… Except for 1, who could never seem to help himself.

"And after all that grand talk about no more hiding," he said petulantly. He sounded like he was going to say more, but 9 stopped him by clapping his hand over 1's mouth, almost involuntarily but thankfully.

"Shh! Be quiet!" 9 hissed back, keeping his voice down. Overhead, through a gap in their metal shelter, they could see the probe as it passed overhead, casting a shadow over the ground as it passed. If its sight had been sharper, it might have even seen them. It passed by quickly, though to the company it seemed like a lot longer. At last it had gone by, and it was as safe as it could get.

That danger out of the way, 5 and 9 worked together to push the metal wall that hid them back, and they took a good look at where they were. They had gotten almost all the way to the entrance they had been looking for. The factory towered high above them and everything else, one of the few buildings in the entire city that had not been destroyed; in fact, it didn't seem to have been damaged or even touched at all. On either side of it, four enormous legs stuck out of the walls, pumping up and down into the ground as they extracted oil for the Machine to feed off of—but it looked like some kind of evil spider-like monster. All over the ground around them, oil had been leached out of the earth to form pools of black opalescent goo.

And the factory hummed with the frightening sound of gears and roaring fires, the sounds of the Machine, which most of them were just hearing for the first time. 6 was beyond frightened, and he wanted to run away from the horrible place as fast as he could. On either side of him, the twins were trying not to shake too badly from fear.

"_Mama's here somewhere,"_ 4 flickered miserably. _"What if we can't get her back…?"_

6 wasn't too concerned about that. 7 was alive, and they were going to get her back, for sure. If 9 willed it to be so, it would probably be so. It seemed he could do anything… Except take the Source seriously for more than a minute.

After assessing the area briefly, 9 took a deep breath.

"I'm going in," he announced, and stepped out of their shelter. 5 started after him and caught him by the arm.

"I'm going with you," he insisted again.

"No, I need you here," 9 answered gently, trying to ease his friend's disappointment. "If I don't make it back… Destroy it."

His instruction given, he dashed off toward the exit without another word.

"Wait! How?" 5 called after him, but 9 didn't answer. Whatever the plan was now, it was all in 5's capable steel hands. Of course they were capable; they were the hands their leader had left in charge. Duh.

Well, he didn't seem to have a plan just yet. 5 looked around the immediate area again, sizing up his resources. But an idea came to him quickly; 6 could tell just by looking at the back of his head, something genius had occurred to him.

"So, let's hear it," 1 demanded. "What's your _brilliant_ scheme?"

Under other circumstances, the challenge would have made 5 very nervous. How could he have been expected to come up with any plan of any kind so fast? But that had been before. Today, he turned to face them all with a self-confident smile and pulled a red-tipped match from his pack.

"We're going to need a full barrel."

"…What?"

"Of oil. We're going to light it on fire, and use it for a weapon."

6 was moved to feel proud of his quick-thinking and clever brother, but 1 looked startled.

"…This is madness! This plan is too dangerous," he countered.

"It's the best we've got," 5 insisted, not losing his ground for a moment. "That thing has already used something of ours against us, and now _we're_ going to use something of its own against it. The plan _will_ work. Who's with me?"

"_We are!"_ the twins flickered in unison, skittering over by him and prompting 6 to follow them.

"Me too," he said quietly, suddenly moved to speak. He didn't like to speak much anymore, but he felt like he should manage some words for his brother. Indeed, 5 seemed very cheered by the two simple, barely audible words.

Maybe they did understand him a little, after all.

1 held back, though, unsure whether he wanted to be part of a team he had little influence over. He stood there and scowled at them all, annoyed that 5 had been left in charge and that he was actually doing well. 5 allowed the older man to try and stare him down, hoping he might soften and change his mind. But, of course, he refused.

"Fine," 5 growled. "Then go back and don't get in our way."

Even though he didn't remember 5 very well, it was difficult for 6 to imagine him angry—especially with a quarter of his face substituted with stiff leather that didn't move with the rest of his facial expressions. For some reason, he also had trouble thinking of his brother as a strong leader. Yet here he was, leading them and refusing to let 1 trample on him. In fact, he got the impression that 5 was enjoying being in charge. No one was going to take that from him now.

His sudden change in mood had caught the twins off guard as well. They seemed to approve and be just as proud as 6, but something about it unnerved them. He guessed that, all this time he had forgotten he had a brother, 5 had been very different than he was in this moment. What had he been like, then? A fearful, spineless blob of jello, with no self-confidence and no clue what was going on? 6 hated to think of his brother this way, and he suddenly wondered what all he had missed while he had cloistered himself away.

Without waiting any longer for 1 to make up his mind, 5 turned and walked away to find the things he needed for his plan. Those with him followed after. 4 came up beside him and took his hand in hers.

"_5, are you alright?"_ she asked, her flickering sounding worried.

"I feel great, actually," he answered with a calm smile.

"_Where are we gonna find a barrel of oil?"_ 3 asked. _"And how will we move it?"_

"There's got to be one somewhere around here; there's so much oil, it's got to be stored somewhere. And they're round. We can roll it."

"_What if it's too heavy?"_

"The four of us can do it, if we work together. Don't worry, 3."

Both the children seemed comforted by this and didn't question him anymore. 6 had nothing to say and just followed them, waiting to see where he would be needed.

Then came the Voice again. That odd little whisper that struck in the back of his head every now and again, offering strange information and advice, and sometimes company. 6 didn't know who the Voice belonged to, but he liked it. Whoever owned the Voice understood him perfectly, speaking just as clearly and bluntly as he did. In fact, most of what he knew had come from the Voice, whispered in dreams through the years.

_Listen carefully. What you seek is nearby. Follow me._

There was no one around to follow, but 6 knew that didn't matter. Something inside him guided him away from the others, and he allowed it to lead him.

"6, where are you going?" 5 asked when he started to drift away.

"It's here," 6 answered, still walking away.

"What's here? What are you looking for?"

6 couldn't believe how thick his brother was being. Wasn't it obvious? What they were looking for was somewhere nearby. He had said so clear as a bell, hadn't he? This was nothing new, he supposed, but it was aggravating.

_Stop here. Look around. What you need is here._

For a gleaming, hopeful moment, he thought the Voice might be talking about the Source. Perhaps it was buried in the rubble at his feet, or hidden in the large shadow that stretched before him. As he looked around on the ground for the tiny thing, 5 came up beside him and gasped suddenly.

"Oh, you found one! Good eyes, 6; I never would have seen it here," he exclaimed and ran forward into the shadow. Happy to be so useful but not sure how he had done it, he looked up and saw what was casting the shadow: a big, round, metal barrel, laying on its side, black oil slowly oozing out of a crack in the top.

What they had been seeking was here, indeed; but it wasn't what 6 had been hoping for. He was still glad that he had found the barrel for his brother, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed.

"It's smaller than I had expected to find. But…" 5 mused, circling the barrel. He put his hands against its side, held his ear against it and banged on the grimy metal with his fist, trying to gauge how much was inside it from the sound.

"_Is it enough? Will it work?"_ 4 asked hopefully.

"It doesn't sound quite full, but it sounds like plenty," he answered. "And it's small—it will be easier for us to move it by ourselves. And it's close to where we need it to be already, so we won't have to move it very far, anyway. It's perfect."

3 skittered over and gave 6 a friendly punch in the arm. _"Way to go, 6! We wouldn't have found this without you._ _I guess we'll never lose anything again, with you around."_

Disappointment melted away as he sheepishly rubbed his arm. He wanted to say that it wasn't his own doing, that the Voice had guided him, but he chose not to bother. The Voice was so good and honorable to him, he couldn't bear the thought of his friends not understanding if he tried to explain it.

"_Is that really all we need?"_ 4 asked. _"A barrel of oil and a match?"_

5 gave her a wry smile. "You should have seen what little we got by with when the church burned down last night."

6 had to admit that he was proud of that, as well. It was the most action he had been a part of in a very long time, and it had forced him out of his dark corner to be a part of it. Ever since last night, he had been out in the open and unable to hide well, and he found he didn't mind as much as he thought he did. 5 had thought on his feet last night, too; 6 had only assisted with hotwiring the airplane propeller that dragged the monster to its doom, but he was honored to have been a part of it.

Maybe 5 didn't mind some of this as much as he had thought, either.

"All of you, come with me; I need to do something, and I want you nearby, in case another probe comes," he said after a pause, and started back the way they had come. The rest of them followed him, but he held up his hand for them to stop short.

"Stay here for a minute, and stay in the shadow," he instructed. "I'll be right back."

5 disappeared around the corner, where they had hidden from the probe. The twins both sat down and waited patiently for him to return, discussing something with each other in their flicker-speak. 6 decided to take this time to listen to what was going on around the bend. Sure enough, he could hear 5 and 1 arguing.

5 would never have dared question 1 before, let alone argue with him; but he wasn't sure why he remembered that.

"We need your help. There are already so few of us, we need every hand we can get!"

"This is folly! I'm not going to be led by _you_, of all people—to be led by that incompetent fool is bad enough, but by _you_ is insulting!"

"No one asked you, and there's a reason."

"Stop pretending to know what you're doing, boy. You are no more able to keep these people safe than you were able to—"

"Don't!"

"You couldn't help him, and you can't help them. Who do you presume to be?"

"Who do _you_ presume to be? What would you do?"

"If I was still in charge, we wouldn't even be here. If I was still in charge, we would all be safe, and alive. I was in charge, none of this would have happened in the first place!"

"Well, it _has_ happened. What are you going to do about it?"

"Get out of here, of course! They're lost. There's no point in staying here, waiting to be picked off by another monster."

"They are _not_ lost. They are coming back, and we are going to be ready when they do, and _that_ is why 9 left _me_ in charge. You would have abandoned him as soon as he was out of sight—you've abandoned _all_ of us! He has never abandoned us, and we will not abandon him, either. So what are you going to do, 1? Are you going to run away on your own and leave your only friend to die without a fight, or are you going to be a part of something bigger than yourself, for _once_ in your life?"

That had to have been the most incredible thing 6 had ever heard, perhaps as moving as the Voice. How long had 5 wanted to say all of that out loud? How long had everyone wanted to scream all of this in 1's ungrateful face? He could only imagine that his brother felt impossibly impressive, no matter what 1 had been moved to do.

A pause settled; if anymore words were exchanged, 6 couldn't hear them, and the twins obviously hadn't been paying attention. A moment later, 5 came back around the corner… And 1 trudged furiously behind him.

"Alright, everyone," 5 announced, "we've got to move that barrel back over here, as close as we can to where 9 went in. And then we wait."

"_Wait for what?"_ asked 3.

"I don't' know yet. We just have to wait, and we'll know it when it comes."

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Working together, it didn't take the five of them long to move the barrel in place. Because of the crack in the otherwise sealed top, oil oozed out in a trail as they rolled it, which 5 said was also good; they could light the oil trail from a distance, gaining them more time to get out of the way of the explosion that was sure to come. 6 wasn't sure if the barrel itself was lighter than _it_ looked, or if they were stronger than _they_ looked. He wondered at his own strength, unsure how much effort had actually been his. And he thought of 3 and 4, the smallest of them all and probably the weakest, physically, and marveled at how much help they had been. Even the five of them alone were a formidable team, when 1 stopped fighting with everyone and started working with them. Imagine what they would be able to do, when 9 returned with 7 and 8. They would be unstoppable!

But he hadn't returned _yet_.

"_It's been almost half an hour,"_ 3 commented. _"What do you think is going on in there?"_

"_I don't want to know,"_ 4 answered fretfully. _"I hope they're all okay…"_

6 wondered if he should be concerned too, but the Voice stopped him.

_All is well. Be still, and wait._

The others clearly felt no such thing; especially not 5, who was becoming antsy and impatient. At last he peered around the side of the barrel, into the gaping tunnel where 9 had gone. But it was still dark and empty, and no one was coming.

"Where are they?" he wondered nervously, gripping a match at the ready. Surely, they would be coming any moment now…

"It's been too long," 1 insisted. "We have to do it now!" He reached out and snatched the match out of 5's hand, intent on lighting the oil.

"No!" 5 exclaimed, grabbing the match and trying to wrench it back. "They need more time!"

They jerked the match back and forth until 6 thoughts they might break it. Then all of a sudden, a blaring light burst down from the red dawn sky over them. It was a probe, snuck up behind them and seen them at last. 1 let go of the match in a panic; 5 replaced the match in his pack and pulled out his handy crossbow. He aimed and fired it at the probe, sending an arrow with a long rope attached to it flying into the thing's balloon body. The probe knew at once that it had been attacked, and sounded a wailing warning signal to all other monsters around.

"Come on, help me pull it down," 5 said to them, and picked up the rope to haul it in. 6 and the twins fell in behind him to help, but the probe was stronger than them. It pulled back, dragging them along the ground with it.

6 glanced over his shoulder to look for 1, who was definitely not helping them with the rope. However, it turned out that he was. He had picked up the other end and lashed it to the barrel, by a piece of metal that had come away from it. The probe continued to fly off, only to stop abruptly when the rope ran out. It pulled the rope so hard that the rest of them were hauled into the air and then shaken violently to the ground. 6 nearly hit his head, and was so jarred that he nearly missed the Voice whispering again.

_All is well. 9 is coming._

6 sat up at once, thrilled with the news. And it sounded like 1 knew it as well.

"They're coming!" the older man exclaimed, and came running to them. 5 held out his hand, thinking that 1 would help him up. 1 held his hand as well—but instead of taking 5's hand, he snatched the match out of his pack and ran off. 5 jumped to his feet on his own and ran after him.

"No!" he all but screamed this time, nearly tackling 1 to the ground as he grabbed hold of the match again. "Not yet!"

"Let go, you fool!"

Then, from out of the tunnel, there came a voice—not the Voice that only spoke in 6's head, but a voice that everyone could hear.

"5! We're coming!"

At last, 9 was coming back—hopefully with at least one of their lost comrades. That must have been the signal that 5 had been looking for. He yanked the match away from 1 and raked the red tip against the ground. The flame caught at once, and he touched the flame to the trail of oil. The flame spread over it, like a snake of glowing yellow fire. One end stopped short, with nowhere to continue to; but the other end hurried up to the barrel.

"Come on, everyone," 5 commanded, and they all pushed the barrel forward once more. Only a little further, and it would go rolling down into the tunnel… Where 9 was, 6 realized with a start. He didn't know the plan, brilliant as it was. How was he going to know to get out of the way?

_Be still and do what you can. All will be well._

The barrel gave way and rolled down into the tunnel, and they all watched on the edge of their nerves as it clattered down and away. From around one side, 9 appeared—just barely missing getting crushed. Another figure appeared over the top of the barrel, leaping over and landing perfectly—7, of course. But no great hulking figure came after them.

_Do not worry about 8. You will see him, in time._

That sounded ominous, but 6 chose not to worry about it. As it was, they had a larger concern. The probe was still attached by the rope to the barrel, and was getting dragged down into the tunnel as well. It was speeding toward them, and would haul them along with it. None of them remembered this at first, until—

_You must move! Now!_

"Look out!"

9 and the Voice both screamed at exactly the same time, so that 6 didn't understand at first what was said. Then they all turned to see the probe rushing toward them. They all dropped to the ground, just in time to miss the probe as it was dragged away into the darkness.

The barrel had been a close call; could 7 and 9 manage to evade the probe as well?

Of course, they did. They burst through the probe's paper body, a knife held before them to slice through it, and finally came out of the tunnel—safe with them, at last.

"We have to get out of the way," 7 insisted, not bothering to stop running, and causing everyone to run after her at once.

"_Why are we running?"_ 3 asked, his flickering barely audible as a groaning, agonized roar rumbled out of the factory. _"I wanted to see what would happen!"_

"You'll see it, trust me."

The rumbling grew louder behind them, desperate and defeated. Whatever was happening because of that oil barrel must have been substantial; it sounded like the Machine was in pain, as easily as the rest of them could be, had been all day and all night. The idea filled 6 with less pity and more guilty pleasure than he was comfortable with, but he felt like he deserved to indulge in a little vengeance after all that monstrosity had put them through. The rumbling grew louder still, and the entire factory quaked, wracked with explosions inside. The towering chimneys began to crack and break apart, falling in gigantic pieces to the ground.

_That_ was why they had to get out of the way. If they had remained where they were, something surely would have fallen on and crushed them. 6 thought suddenly of 8 again, and realized with a start that, whatever had happened to him, there was no way he would be rejoining them now.

_Do not worry about 8. You will see him, in time._

6 wanted to stop and entertain this frightening new thought, but there was no time—if he didn't keep running from the crumbling factory, he would probably be joining 8 in the afterlife much sooner than he liked to think.

Waves of heat started rolling out of the building as flames enveloped it, unquenchable and destructive. A wall of almost unbearable heat hit them all, sending sand flying around them as well. He stumbled, wondering suddenly if he was going to melt or spontaneously catch fire. But he remained whole and unharmed, as did his six remaining companions, as they crossed the property line to safety. They all scrambled under a barbed wire fence and up a small hill, out of danger but not quite out of the heat, where they could see what they had left in their wake.

Total devastation, was what they had left. The factory was destroyed, another rampaging fire eating it away to nothing—which was perfectly fitting, considering how It had robbed them of their home by fire the previous night. Nothing moved now but the dancing flames. A dull red sun had risen, still low in the sky; it would grow lighter as it climbed, no doubt—it would probably turn to blazing yellow or white before noon; but for now, it accentuated their victory perfectly.

They had done this. With a match, a barrel of oil, and the whole team working together, they had done _all of this_. They had already lost two of their number, but seven remained, and they were all together again. They would be unstoppable now.

For a moment, they all stood still, catching their breath and admiring what they had done. But the twins could never stay still for very long; they composed themselves faster than the rest of the group, and wandered off a little way. 6 decided to follow them, and it seemed that 7 had decided to do the same.

"What did you find?" she asked, genuinely interested, not peeved at all that they had wandered off, or annoyed that the twins were too focused to answer her.

6 realized it was good to hear 7's mellow voice again. It had never occurred to him before how much he had missed it. In a time impossibly long ago, whenever he'd had nightmares, it had usually been her voice that had charmed him awake again, out of the terrors of his sub-consciousness and back to reality. He would hear her calling his name, a whisper at first, growing louder and louder, as if she was coming closer. It hadn't been too long after she had run away that the Voice started whispering to him in her place; in the beginning, he had thought that 7 and the Voice were one and the same. Even after it dawned on him that the Voice was something much bigger than any one of them, it had given him hope that 7 was still alive somewhere.

But as time went by, he had forgotten about her as much as he had forgotten about 5. It seemed like his hazy memories of them had been half-baked prophetic dreams, finally come to pass in this hour of need. They had been his friends once—his big sister and brother, who had loved him and taken care of him—but now they were like strangers, and he didn't know them at all anymore. Even if he couldn't' remember what they had been like before, it was clear that they had changed quite a bit over the past few years, and even the past few hours.

Had _he_ changed much? It was difficult to tell, exactly. He certainly seemed to be the only one with any understanding or answers, anymore.

But for right now, even he had to admit that the Source could wait a bit. They had destroyed the Machine all by themselves, most of them were still alive and unharmed, and they were all tired from a long night and an exciting morning. They had earned a few hours of rest, he supposed. And, without the danger of the Machine or any of its monstrous creations, there was no reason to hurry, find a shelter to fall back to, or be worried. For the first time in any of their lives, they could completely relax and enjoy themselves for a while.

And the twins had found a perfect way to celebrate their victory: a rusty old phonograph sat nearby, a record already in place, and a box of others next to it. 6 had no idea how the contraption was supposed to work, but 3 and 4 were geniuses who knew pretty much _everything_. They climbed up on top of it and placed the needle on the vinyl disk; bracing themselves against the needle, they began to walk the record like a treadmill, making it spin around, until it had enough momentum to spin on its own. The music finally echoed out of the megaphone, scratchy at first, but then clear and charming.

It had been a long time since 6 had heard music. His last experience with music had been 7 singing him to sleep the night before she ran away, which he had happily forgotten until just now. In fact, now that he remembered her, and what music was like, he recalled that she used to sing him and the twins to sleep almost every night. He realized once again that he really liked music; it was like finding an old treasure, buried under years of other junk he never really cared about, and covered in a thick layer of dust—then blowing the dust away, and realizing what it was, being thrilled to see it again because he thought he had lost it forever. Several old, pleasant memories hit him upside the head. Mesmerized by the sweet, lilting melody from the record, and slightly dazed by his sudden sharpness of memory, he grinned.

While he wasn't paying attention, 5 came up behind him and hoisted him up onto his shoulders, spinning around in time to the music. What was this sound they were suddenly making? Could it be… laughter? 6 hadn't had a reason to laugh in a long time, either; he did so out of an instinct that had also been mostly forgotten. It felt so wonderfully good, he found he couldn't stop—and neither could 5.

"Remember when we used to do this, 6?" he asked. "You would get on my shoulders, and 3 would get on 7's, and we would all wrestle like this? You guys used to love that."

Oh yeah… He did remember, now that he thought of it. He wished that he had words to respond with, but he still couldn't stop laughing. But that was okay; his laughter seemed to be a good enough answer for 5, who kept spinning gently.

Somewhere around, though he couldn't see where, exactly, he heard 7 laughing too. She was happy. He vaguely remembered a few instances where she really had been so, most of those times also being associated with music and the still of the night; but there wasn't much there. Mostly, he remembered her—and everyone else, for that matter—being depressed, frightened, angry, and frustrated. All the time.

But today, she was alive, with her children and her brothers, and a very clever hero who had saved her life _twice_. Why shouldn't she be as happy as the rest of them?

Well, with the exception of 1, who had alienated himself from them again. His spirits obviously weren't as high as everyone else's. 6 supposed he must feel sad about 8, who had clearly been lost. No one else was going to stop to mourn the loss; 8 had been mean and bossy, quick to punch or trip people for no reason, for sheer amusement. Most of them—including 6—were happy that he was out of the way, even if it meant that they were short a warrior and down another member of their pathetic number.

But 1 was sad. He would mourn for 8, as surely as the rest of them had mourned for 2—even if it wasn't quite the same.

5 spun closer to the megaphone, and 6 suddenly heard his own goofy laughter echoing in the rusty metal cone. His interest snapped to and he stopped laughing for a moment.

"Want to get closer?" 5 asked. Without waiting for a response—perhaps knowing that he wouldn't really get one anyway—he walked up to the megaphone. The inside was hollow, wide at the front and very narrow at the back, and the music seemed to fly out of it and hit him in the face.

"Soooooound," he called into it. It was like the wailing of a ghost, and it completely contradicted the happy, cheery tone of the music. This was fun! He scrambled to stand up on his brother's shoulders, so that he could lean into the funnel.

"Soooooooooound!" he sang, a little louder this time. Now he tried to climb into the funnel itself, so he could sit there and make all the noise he wanted to without killing 5's shoulders. But it was tilted at a weird angle, and he slipped and fell out before he could find a foothold. He found himself on the record, revolving below the funnel, and it was pulling him toward the needle. Well aware of what needles could do—no matter where they were or function they served—he scrambled off the record. He would have fallen off the device and hit the ground, if 5 hadn't rushed up and caught him.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

6 nodded; he was perfectly fine. 5 smiled, satisfied, and patted him on the head, tousling his frayed hair. Then he walked away to look at the other records in the box.

6 looked around at what the others were doing. 1 was still sitting away from them, facing the burning factory and looking impossibly disheartened, in spite of everything. 5 had busied himself with the other records. 3 and 4 were taking turns riding the phonograph's hand-crank, which spun up and down like a Ferris wheel as the record turned. 7 and 9 were sitting together on top of the megaphone, talking. Curious, not considering that what they were saying was none of his business, he stopped to watch and listen.

"I've misjudged you," 7 was saying. "I haven't been very patient or nice to you, and… I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault," 9 insisted, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "A lot was going on; I don't know if I would have been patient or nice, myself. Anyway, you're very brave."

7 scoffed. "Me? Speak for yourself. The monster took us, you knew where it would bring us, and you came after us anyway. How, if you're not at _least_ as brave as I am? And why?"

"…Why is harder to answer right now. I don't know if I have the right words yet."

"You _did_ only get here yesterday… Has anyone told you how much like 2 you are?"

"At least three times. I guess it must be true."

"That's good. 2 was a good person to be like; we all tried to be more like him, but we all failed. But it's got to be better than being like me."

"How could you say that?" 9 demanded, suddenly sounding a little cross. "_Never_ say things like that about yourself. There's nothing wrong with you; you're perfect."

She smiled an uncharacteristically humble smile. "…Again, thank you."

He took her hand in his free one and just held it for a moment. "When that thing took you… Of all the things I've done so far, it was the most terrifying thing I've felt. I thought I would never see you again."

"I thought I would never see _you_ again, 9. I kept wishing that… If I could see you, just one more time before I—"

"Never mind. It's over now. We're safe, and together. Everything is going to be fine."

6 smiled. He didn't doubt this, and 7 didn't seem to, either. Even if 9 was scatterbrained and a little too unwitting for his own good, he would certainly take care of them keep them safe, but not resort to locking them up like animals in order to do so. For the first time in his life, he felt safe.

He couldn't help but think of 2, though—the only one of them he remembered or knew anymore, because he was always around, keeping a watchful eye on him. But 2 was gone now. No one would have been happier to relax like this than 2; he had always had to be tense, and it had clearly been wearying. 6 wished that 2 could be with them... But he recalled what the twins said about a mystical place called Valhalla, where the souls of warriors went when they died. It was agreed that their father's soul must be there, and that he must be watching them, even if he couldn't be with them. That, at least was comforting.

_Not so, not so. Not at this time. But there is hope. You will see it soon, and you will understand. You will understand, and so will 9. He will know what to do, but not if you don't tell him what you know._

The Voice had been silent for a bit, and it's unnerving message startled 6. That didn't sound very good, at all. What did It mean, "Not So"? They had lost track of 2's body before, sure, but they had gotten it back—they had laid him to rest and mourned for him properly, hadn't they? He was dead, his soul departed from his body. So… his soul had to be somewhere, didn't it? Where else would it be, but at rest in Valhalla, or wherever souls went when they left their bodies?

_Not so, not so. Wait and see. Not much longer now. Keep your eyes open— _

"_Hey, 6! Come here and check this out!"_

3's flickering voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and made the Voice vanish as suddenly as it had come. But it was a welcome disruption; the things the Voice was saying were becoming frightening, and unusually cryptic. He got up and inched closer to the other side of the phonograph.

"Yes?" he asked quietly, almost inaudible over the music. The twins were still taking turns on the hand-crank. It was 3's turn, and he flickered his sentence in parts as he rode past.

"_This is really fun… We've been at it… For a while and… 4 and I are starting… To get dizzy… Wanna try it?"_

"_You'd love it!"_ 4 added from the ground. _"Anyway, the record would make a neat merry-go-round, and we'd sure like to try it. It's like this whole thing is an amusement park, but __our__ size!"_

6 had noticed this before, and thought he would like to give it a try. Before he switched places with the twins, though, a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye got his attention. It was 5, who had lost one of the records out of the box. It rolled away down the slope, and he ran after it to try and retrieve it. Above them, 7 and 9 laughed at their friend's antics.

"I should probably go help him," 9 suggested, and reluctantly hopped down from the megaphone, being careful not to land on the twins as they climbed onto the spinning record.

_Keep your eyes open._

6 decided to blatantly ignore the Voice this time; he was having too much fun right now to let it get him down, if it wasn't going to help him. Anyway, it was difficult to keep a sharp eye on anything as he sat on the hand-crank, going up and down, up and down, up and down, until the world sort of blurred together.

_Keep your eyes open! It's not over yet!_

Almost as soon as the Voice bellowed furiously in his head, he heard 5's voice, screaming in terror.

"Everybody run! It's the Machine!"

They all snapped to attention at once to see mechanical horror in it's terrible six-legged body looming up the hill, out of the dust and heat, charging after diminutive 5 as he tried to get away. The twins were stunned, losing their balance and being launched off the record, knocking 6 from the hand-crank to the ground, where they landed in a panicked tangle. 7 jumped to the ground in front of them, blocking them from the monster's sight, and blocking the sight from them.

In mere seconds, the monster had snapped 5 up in its huge claw. 9 and 1 were closest—surely _they_ would help 5 get away. And 9 _did_ try, running out to meet him and maybe draw the Machine's attention for a moment—but 1 caught him and hauled him back, not letting him get away.

6 wished he was bold enough to swear. What did 1 think he was doing? 9 could help 5, somehow, if only he could get away and do something! 5 was going to die, for sure, this way!

The Machine suddenly seemed to power down, and for one shining moment they all thought the thing had malfunctioned, that it had only been the equivalent of a death rattle or convulsive post-mortem twitching. But instead, all its energy went into something fixed to its chest; it seemed to glow green and crackle with lightening-like power.

_Keep your eyes open this time! This is important! It is the Source—the Machine has the Source!_

6 couldn't believe his ears, partially because he didn't have any. It suddenly made sense! The Source had the power to give life, as well as take it away; the Voice had explained this before. When the others were upset because the Machine had killed 2, It hadn't just crushed him and injured him, like he had thought. No, this was by far worse: the Machine had used the Source to suck out his soul! It had certainly done the same to 8; 7 had just barely missed the same fate, but 5 wasn't to be so lucky.

But… Where were the souls that had been taken? Where had they gone?

6 didn't get much time to think about this. He couldn't hear 5 anymore over the paralyzing crackling of energy, and he couldn't bring himself to look away from what little he could actually see. 7 might have guarded him better, but she appeared to be just as stunned as he was—and rightfully so.

It was like a spider, draining the life from a fly caught in its web. It was fascinating yet grotesque and demented to watch. Like any spider, supreme and uncaring in its little universe, the Machine finished its ghastly work and dropped 5's body on the ground, lifeless.

Somewhere behind them, sounding distant and surreal, the insensitive phonograph continued to play.

_I know how hard it is, but you _must_ pay attention in this moment. Look at its eye now, and all will become clear._

All that 6 wanted to do was look away, run away, _get away_ from this thing that had just killed his brother in front of him and would surely come for the rest of them… When it pulled itself together, anyway. It seemed to be dazed, dizzy from the use of such power. Its monstrous eye had gone from evil red to sickly green as it ripped 5's soul away, but now it was turning orange. Even from the distance, he could see a strange, misty figure in the blank orange void. It looked like…

It was 5. Everything _was_ clear now. When the Machine used the Source to take their souls, those souls weren't being released—they were being locked inside the Machine itself, making it stronger and stronger, giving it something to feed off of. 2 really wasn't in Valhalla, and neither were 8 or 5: they were being held prisoner!

"They're trapped…" he mumbled, moved to words where his friends had been moved to silence. "They're trapped!"

No one was terribly moved by his sudden speech, though. There was only one thing left that they could do—_run_. When he didn't make any move to follow the rest of them, 9 grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him away with the others.

_They will make plans to destroy it. To destroy it seems best; to destroy it seems right. But they must not do so yet! If the Machine is destroyed now, the Source will be taken with it, and the Lost will remain so, un released and without rest. _

_You must not let them destroy it yet. Give this to 9; no matter what happens, he must know this! Tell him what you know. Send him back to the First Room; there are answers for him there that we cannot give him. But He has them. He holds the final answer. All these things, you must tell him._

The Voice told him all of this as they continued to run toward a nearby bridge of rusting metal and decaying, splintering wood. It might have borne the weight of the Machine once upon a time, but there was no way it would now. As the Voice faded and 6 snapped back to what was going on, he realized what would happen when the Machine followed them over the rickety bridge. The bridge would break under it, sending it plummeting down into the ravine below—destroying it!

"No!" he shrieked, jerking away from 9 and running back the way they had come. "We mustn't destroy it!"

"Come on, 6," 9 insisted, running after him. He all but picked him up off his feet and dragged him away as the Machine loomed closer. Even 6 had to agree that, perhaps, running might be a little more pertinent. So he let 9 put him back down and they ran to join the others. They were more than half-way across the bridge, almost to the other side; behind them, the bridge broke apart under the Machine's terrible weight. Only a few beams of rusted metal held the thing together, and the Machine began to pull itself back up.

Seeing it climbing up, 7 jumped to action, taking her spear and trying to pry up the rails that still supported the bridge. If they fell away, they would take the Machine with them.

"No! You mustn't destroy it!" 6 yelled again, dashing back to try and stop her. "They're trapped inside!"

"Get away, 6," she yelled back. Oh, why did he bother with her? She thought he was just a lunatic, babbling nonsense and putting them all in danger. It wasn't 7 he was supposed to be warning, after all. 9 was right behind him, trying to drag him off with the others again.

_Tell him! This is your only chance!_

Before 9 could even touch him, he whirled around and grabbed him—the hero, the one of promise who was supposed to save them—by the shoulders, and forced him to look him in the eye.

"You mustn't destroy it!" he babbled. "Don't destroy it, don't destroy it! They're trapped inside—they're inside!"

He hadn't even finished yet, but something between them suddenly seemed to click. 6 could only imagine that he must look just as crazy as everyone thought he was—a raving lunatic, babbling nonsensically about leaving the monster that was after them alive. But something flashed across 9's face, and he stopped still for a minute as the something sank in.

He believed him! 9 _really_ believed him! Maybe he still didn't understand completely, but who cared? The message had been given, and it had been accepted. His mission was done.

And just in time. A final attempt to claw its way back onto the bridge failed, and the Machine went crashing down—but it reached out its claw and snatched 6 out of the air, dragging him with it. They swung down and back, crashing violently against the ravine wall. They were alone, he and the Machine. He knew what would happen next…. Surprisingly, he wasn't as bothered by this as he should have been.

The Voice had warned him that he would see 8 again soon.

_The last message! Give him the last message!_

6 had partially forgotten about the last part of his mission. Safe on the other side of the ravine, he could see 7 and 9 watching him helplessly, unable to do anything to save him. They could see that he was lost now, and there was nothing they could do about it. Even from the distance, he could see that they were devastated and afraid for him.

But he was only worried that 9 wouldn't get the message he needed. The Machine was about to kill him, and there would be no more help from him.

"Go back to the first room!" he hollered, hoping 9 would hear him. "He'll show you the Source!"

He turned to face the monster, and tried not to shake. Would dying in this way hurt? What would it be like, to be trapped inside the Machine, making it stronger and stronger against his own friends?

_Be not afraid, 6. No matter where you go, I will always be with you, even trapped in the heart of the Machine. This thing may take you now, but I will not abandon you. You are too precious in my sight; all of you are. Be still, and know that I will take care of they who remain. All will be well._

He stared the Machine in the eye, knowing it could see him perfectly, knowing it could understand him.

"I'm not afraid," he informed it quietly.

The Machine didn't care. It powered down, powered back up, and killed him without a second thought, thinking it had been victorious, not knowing how utterly it had just been foiled.


	5. Day Break

You see? 1 doesn't follow 6 at all!

Technically, 7 was _supposed_ to come next, and follow the synchronicity that I SWEAR was accidental... And then she quit cooperating with me, and I had to take a break. Thanks to her general stubbornness, I spent the months of December and early January writing other things, waiting for writer's block to finally pass.

During that very aggravating stretch of time, several incidental things happened: the conception of _Prodigal_ was among them, as was _Suddenly, A Star_, the copmanion piece of _Faith Journey_, and _Tattoos_-all of which concerned the twins being adorable.

_Day Break_ happened upon returning from my Christmas trip to Branson, MO, which is vaguely detailed in _Suddenly, A Star_, if you are really interested. (And I doubt you are.) 1 and his bit came together in a matter of hours, instead of the matter of days or months spent on the others. Especially considering the massive canyon of a plot hole his perspective has to fill. I had completely not expected that, but here it is.

I'm not gonna lie, some of the first part is ripped straight from _Dying Day. _Flashbacks and 1's general pleasantness are the other highlights. I've tried really hard to be objective and not slap mean about this fic, and tell an honest story instead of going on and on about how much 1 sucks. We already know he sucks. Let's at least be cerebral about it. :P

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_Day Break_

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The night was fading fast. The sun was rising, though thick, gray clouds shrouded the morning sky like a pall. The soft light of morning wouldn't shine through the stained glass angel and illuminate the common space with color this morning.

It was just as well, as far as 1 was concerned. The clouded dawn fit his lingering bad mood much better than the gentle morning light would have. He had been awake for some time, woken suddenly by noises below on the ground floor. Whether or not 2 was aware of how loud he was, 1 couldn't say; either way, it was annoying. Not only did the pest's rattling around at five o'clock in the morning disrupt his sleep, but it proved once again that he had no control over 2, or anything he did or said.

1 was just about done with this. It made his head spin until it ached, and his lack of sleep did not help in the slightest. Hence, on this most destined of days, he was plotting in the worst way. There was only room for a single elder in Sanctuary—one of them had to go, and 1 had no intention of being moved from his pedestal.

He stood alone in the dim common room, pale gray light filtering through the clouds and into the church steeple through the clock face. Bathed in the grim light, it seemed like this unusual degree of meanness came a little easier. He hadn't been this mean to anyone in a long time, not since the smallest members of their number had run away, some time ago. After that, it had become so quiet; the only one of them needing curtailing anymore was 2. But not for much longer...

_Physically, he is the oldest and the weakest, _he thought craftily_. How difficult could it be to get rid of him? A good, swift blow to the head is surely all it would take. In this old building, any number of accidents can happen. 5 is stupid enough to not ask questions, and 6 can barely speak. And even if that weren't true, what would they do?_

On the other hand, 2 still had a few tricks up his sleeve that no one was sure about. Perhaps he was the oldest of them all, but it only gave him room to be wiser and more learned. He had grown weaker in the past few years, maybe... But it dawned on 1 to recall 7—that wild woman—and where she had learned all her skills from. That was enough to send a chill up his spine.

All of a sudden, 1 wasn't so sure if this was something he wanted to do anymore. Even if his boy was obtuse enough to not notice things, 2 was not an idiot. He would notice something. If he realized that there was a plot for his life, what would he do? 1 still remembered what 7 had been capable of in a vengeful mood. He didn't want to see what her teacher could do when threatened so.

1 didn't like to admit how much 2 frightened him; but, with an aggravated sigh, he shuddered to think how he didn't have the nerve or the skill to tackle him to the ground and beat him to death himself.

Himself...

_No one is clever enough to avoid the Beast alone, not even 2. How long could she have survived it on her own? She couldn't have lasted more than a day or two, alone and in the open; and she was the strongest of us all. Maybe 2 is bold enough to sneak out by night, when that thing is asleep. We'll see how he fares while its prowling about in the daylight. If he manages to escape, then he would do well to not come back here. If he comes back, I'll have 8 chop his head off!_

That was that. It would be a while yet before 2 would wake; he had had a busy night. Best to let him sleep in on his last day, after all. Let him lie unaware and unknowing. The day would find him, soon enough. 1 stalked out of the dim light and sank heavily into his throne. He could be patient. Maybe he could even sleep a little while he waited.

As he dozed in and out, vague dreams came and went. Many were fuzzy visions of her, the way she had been in the beginning, before she had become so defensive and indifferent. Back before she carried quite so many scars. His dreams of 2 were much clearer, mostly of their many epic confrontations through the years. They had been made to be brothers; ha, that hadn't worked out.

There were other less certain dreams of the way life would be when 2 was out of the picture. It would be calm and quiet. That useless 5, he would insist on being sad for a while, perhaps even forever; but who cared? It would be safer this way. Without their dwindling number wandering around in the emptiness, drawn out by curiosity, everyone would be safer. No more challenges, no more questioning authority, no more danger. Just wordless submission to the higher power. He was only trying to help them after all. After following infernal 2 for all these years, it was a wonder that 5 and 6 were still alive.

7 and the twins certainly weren't. Look where their misplaced loyalty had gotten them. If they hadn't listened to all that freedom and knowledge nonsense, they would still be alive and safe at home. Surely, their brothers saw this. Surely 2 saw this and was wracked by guilt that it was all his fault.

_I would be,_ he thought as his mind eased out of that last dream. _She was entirely too much to contain or to even try to civilize; she was just as bad as the pest that forged her. But it was all his fault that she was so wild. Even if she was beyond all hope of correction, she was glorious to behold; in a way, it made her many, many flaws worth it. If I had to live with the knowledge that it was my teaching that convinced her to run off and get herself killed, I wouldn't be able to sleep at night. And those children—pesky little monsters, just like their mother, but obedient enough when she wasn't around to guard them. Such good children; too good, perhaps. Losing 7 so suddenly was bad enough, and right under my nose. When they went missing just as easily... I had never seen 2 cry before then. It was the only consolation to be had in all that dreadful mess._

The morning light grew stronger as time passed, though it remained as gloomily gray as it had started. It was pitifully quiet. Even 6, who slept in the darkest corner of the common room and babbled nonsense to himself all the time, slept soundly and silently. He was so difficult to ignore when he was awake; but, when he managed to shut up and be still for a few moments, it became all too easy to forget that he even existed. The nonsense the boy babbled unnerved everyone, and 1 believed it was nothing a little corporal punishment couldn't fix. 2 refused to let him try, insisting that whatever made 6 so, um, special, as he put it, was beyond correction. 1 didn't believe it; without a will, anything could be tamed with the threat of pain hanging over its head. It would be better for everyone. Even if it was true and 6 could never be changed, he still deserved a few blows to the head for scaring them so.

_He should be around shortly,_ 1 thought impatiently, drumming his cold metal fingers on the arm of his throne. He quickly decided what he would say, and went over it a few times in his head. If 2 didn't go for it, 1 still had a trick or two up his own sleeve that he could use. Even if he was smart enough to know a rat when he smelled it, he could still be upset enough to need more space than Sanctuary provided.

_She got that from him, as well, I think._

Little more time passed before the rusty squeaking of the rope-and-pulley elevator echoed above him. 2 was finally awake and coming down from the watchtower, most likely headed for the common room to make sure the imbecile was still alive; he was the only one who bothered anymore. 1 jumped up and walked briskly to the drop-off, feeling pretty excited about how crafty his plan was. Within moments, the rusted bucket that was their elevator lowered into view, carrying no one but tired-looking 2.

"Sleep well?"

"Well enough," 2 retorted. "What do you want?"

"I have a small favor to ask of you."

"I'll bet."

"Come now, 2. You might actually enjoy it."

"I doubt that."

"Today, I actually _want_ you to go out into the emptiness for me."

2 hesitated for a moment, regarding 1 carefully.. "…Oh really?"

Perfect. He was walking headlong into the trap, and he didn't even know it.

"Yes, really. Come, walk with me."

2 hesitated, but stepped out of the elevator and followed him into the common room. It was sort of natural for them now to make deals with each other beneath the angel in the window. It was a beautiful being, but menacing somehow, even with its neutral expression that gave no hint of either smile or scowl. Like it was daring them to be unpleasant. 2 said he liked the angel; he said it reminded him of Lady Justice, but 1 had no idea what that meant.

At any rate, the angel could go on daring him. As long as he didn't _act_ like he was plotting an assassination, the angel didn't have to know. No one had to.

"Well, what do you want?" 2 demanded.

"I need you to go on a scouting mission today," 1 replied as naturally as he could, and wound up sounding a little flat.

"A scouting mission? Why?"

"Because you're simply the best person here for the job. You'll be outside, in the emptiness we all know you can't stay out of. Why sneak out at night when you can just go in the daytime, with my consent?"

2 scoffed. "I don't need your consent to do anything. And besides, the emptiness belongs to the Beast while the sun is up. It's too dangerous; I could never put 5 in that sort of danger."

"Then don't bring 5 along, and go by yourself. You'll travel faster and go more quietly. The Beast will never know you're out there."

"I don't think so. What am I even supposed to be scouting for, if I may ask?"

"Anything unusual," 1 answered vaguely.

"Such as…?"

Ug. Why did he have to keep asking questions?

"Anything dangerous." 1 hoped that, if he was going to keep asking questions, he would at least change the topic.

"The Beast is the only thing that poses any danger to us," 2 pointed out. "And since when did _you_ care, as long as we're safely imprisoned and enslaved to you, inside this church?"

Perceptive, perceptive. Time for a trap card. 1 turned away and took a few steps toward on of the many relics adorning the wall. It was a calendar page, the numbers of their missing crossed out with the ashes of spent matches. It never failed to upset 2, often to a rage.

"I thought for sure _you_ of all people would be interested, 2. You always want to go outside. You're always trying to get away from us."

"Not this way."

"Beggars can't be choosers, you know."

"I'm no beggar. I just take what is mine by right. You've somehow gotten it in your head that, if you say I'm yours to control, it will magically become true. I promise you that this isn't so."

1 was silent for a moment. Time to spring the trap.

"Things have been difficult for you since 7 left, haven't they?" he asked slyly. "Things have been tough for us all since she ran away. If only she were here… she would have been brave enough to go with you on this mission, wouldn't she?"

2 was silent for a moment, fazed that she had been brought up at all. "What do you care about her? You don't even think she's still alive," he pointed out sullenly.

"You seem to, though. What if she's out there, somewhere?"

"Ha. You don't' really care."

"Not really. But I know _you_ do."

"She ran away for a reason, 1. If she's alive, she's not coming back, even if I did find her."

"Suit yourself," 1 said dismissively, and walked away, revealing the calendar page. He walked back to sit in his throne to watch the fallout of his trap so far. After a moment, 2 stormed back to the elevator... and returned to the watchtower.

_Damnation. I was so close! Back to the drawing board..._

However, halfway through concocting an equally brilliant scheme, he heard the elevator squeaking down again. This time, 2 lowered himself down past the common room floor, with his clumsy wooden cart in the elevator with him. The squeaking echoed from below until 1 couldn't hear it anymore.

Once again, Sanctuary was quiet.

_Am I still the only one awake?_ He wondered, realizing that he didn't want to be awake any more than the others did. The day was still young; he had plenty of time to sleep. So he rose from his throne once again and returned to his own quarters in another corner, intent on napping for the rest of the morning.

_2 is so utterly doomed. I'll rest ever so well from now on..._

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It must have been several hours that he slept soundly. When 1 woke again, the light had changed considerably. The clouds had cleared away, and the sun shone bright orange in the sky, sitting a little past the ten o'clock position. Now the stained glass window cast its rainbow over the common room as he walked in, fastening his red cape around his shoulders.

It was still pretty quiet, but he was no longer alone. 8 had come out, and was sitting in his usual spot to the left of the throne, sharpening his cobbled-together sword with a large pebble. He was so engrossed in his work, he didn't really notice when 1 came in. In the shadowed corner, he could hear 6 scratching around, humming mindlessly to himself. And 2 certainly had not made it back yet.

But something was missing... Where had that useless 5 gone to? Perhaps 2 had changed his mind and dragged the boy along with him, after all. A pity; if he kept luring their people into early graves, there would be no one left. 2, he could stand to lose, of course; smooth, clever 2 could at least lose the Beast before returning home. But, thanks to 5 the klutz, the monster had almost found their home several times in the past. The idea of 5 wandering around in the emptiness was troubling to everyone.

_At least he took the whiny one. Who knows how long I could have actually stood his moping around._

However, it made more sense to actually take a look. 2 and 5 spent a good deal of their time in the watchtower, making maps and fiddling with the mechanical nonsense they built in their spare time. But their quarters were on the ground floor. If 2 really had come back, that was where he would probably be. 1 stood on the edge of the floor and gazed down, down, down toward the ground, listening carefully for movement, but he couldn't hear anything.

"8."

The giant looked up at once, conditioned to obey his master without question.

"Have you seen 2 around?"

8 wordlessly shook his head, not one for speaking much.

"What about 5? Where is he?"

"Downstairs," 8 grunted in his low, rumbling voice. Whenever he did speak, it was as monosyllabic as possible, and 1 had never minded.

"What is he up to?"

To that, 8 merely shrugged and continued running the time-smoothed rock against his blade. 1 picked up his staff from beside his throne and headed back to the elevator.

"Get up then; we're going down to look for them. And bring your sword."

Disappointed, but not daring to be aggravated by being interrupted from his work, 8 picked himself up and slung his sword over his shoulder, sliding it into the sheath in his back. It was a swift movement he had mastered over years of practice; it was really the only thing he could do with any grace. They climbed into the elevator, and 8 lowered them fairly quickly to the ground floor. Now that they were on the ground, 1 could hear movement, coming from the nearby den. As he started toward it, he also heard voices. Not caring what he might be interrupting, he burst into the cramped little room and found 5 alone... with a stranger?

"Keeping secrets from me?" He demanded, advancing into the room.

"I was just coming to tell you," 5 insisted feebly, but 1 pushed him out of the way before he could finish, intent on the stranger. Using his staff rather than his own hands, 1 turned the confused young man on his side to see his number-name. Between his shoulders was a carefully scripted number 9.

"What's this...?"

"I... I found him," 5 stammered nervously. "In the emptiness."

He had been out by himself. Suddenly furious, he spun around and backed 5 against the wall.

"What were you doing out there?"

"I—"

"You'll lead the Beast right back to us! How many times have I told you?"

Behind them, 9 gasped.

"The Beast, that's what took 2! If we hurry, we can save him!"

Aha, so the plan had worked, and the Beast had taken him. That really had been all too easy. Poor 5, who looked so alarmed; and poor 9, who looked so relieved. There would be none of this "saving him" business, that was for sure.

"If the Beast took him, that's the end of it," he informed the newcomer.

"But he was still alive!" he insisted frantically.

"No! We have rules!" 1 countered, slamming his staff on the floor for emphasis. Finally, yappy 9 was startled to silence. For having only arrived, seeming tired and disoriented, he certainly had a lot to say. He clearly had a good heart—probably _too_ good, like the twins had been. Something about 9 seemed shockingly familiar, but 1 couldn't tell what it was, exactly. Behind him, 8 lumbered into the small space, awaiting some kind of command.

"Our new guest seems confused," he said, mostly to 8. To 9 he said, "Perhaps I can help you achieve some clarity." He turned on his heel, with an authorative swish of his cape, and led the company out, back toward the elevator. Knowing full well that 1 was in no mood for chitter-chatter, 8 made sure that the two smaller Stitchpunks remained silent during the short walk. When he shoved them too hard into the elevator, snickering to himself, 1 chose not to bother trying to correct it.

_That's my fault, I suppose. Oh well._

Being the strongest, 8 pulled them back up toward the common room. As they rose higher and higher,9 marked everything around him with amazement and wonder, as if he had never seen rope, metal, or even daylight before in his life. Clueless, as 1 had suspected; who was he to be so opinionated, when he didn't know where or what or who he was? Eventually, his gaze came to rest on 1, and for a long, awkward moment, they stared at each other a little too hard. As he assessed the stranger from head to toe, he got that feeling again, that he recognized 9 somehow.

_What is it about him that I know so well? Why do I keep thinking I know him from somewhere?_

As they arrived back in the common room and exited the elevator, 9 continued to marvel at everything that had been craftily engineered over the past several years. Where had he been all this time, to be so mesmerized by their remarkable attempt at civilization? Well... of course, 2 had built most of it... It was probably best not to mention or even think about that.

As long as the boy had no idea of what was going on, 1 supposed it was his job to retell the story of how they had ended up here. No one else would tell it right, he was certain. He put his free hand around 9's shoulders and led him into the light, in the shadow of the clock face.

"When we woke in this world," he began, "it was chaos. Man and machine fought each other with fire, and metal."

Each of them remembered it in their own way. And 1 remembered his angle of the story so vividly, it still haunted his dreams...

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_There were only five of us together when he told us to run. He said it had become too dangerous for us to stay with him in his house any longer. He said that we would have to strike out on our own; he wished us the best of luck, and then all but threw us out without any further instruction._

_We were lost and alone, and there was a war being fought, literally, on our very doorstep. Angry human men ran up and down the street with guns and small explosives. Bombs fell from the sky and exploded all around us. The heavy clanking of war machines advancing down our street came from all sides. At all times, something was being fired, or set off, or blown to pieces, and any one of those things could have spelt doom for our entire number. Every single one of us was terrified. What were we expected to do, in the middle of this mess?_

_There was no time to fight for supremacy. It was annoying, but 2 and I had to lead together; there wasn't much of a place to lead them, anyway. If we kept moving, perhaps we would be lucky enough to find shelter; and it would keep the others from despairing too much. We just ran down the street, keeping out of the way as best we could, wary of the men and their heavy boots that could crush us without any effort at all. For a few blocks, we ran like this; but we all tired soon. _

_All of us but her. The only one of us to be both strong and fairly intelligent, 7 sprinted ahead to scout a path for us. The streets were so dangerous, even for us, and she didn't come back for what seemed like a long time. We feared that we had lost her..._

_But, at last, she returned, and with good news: the path she had found for us was fairly still. And, while it wouldn't be a good permanent shelter, she had also found a discarded army helmet that would cover us while we travelled. 2 was so proud of her, of how she had grown on the inside, he said. 6 remarked that he felt safe; 8 said nothing, but trusted his sister enough._

_All I felt was strange, following such a flighty young woman through the mess. _

_But she was true to her word and led us forth to a less populated sidewalk, and the helmet she had spoken of. While us men crowded safely beneath it, she told us to stay put while she scouted again. I felt ridiculous; the others were either too proud or too scared or both to feel the same. Once again, she was gone for a frighteningly long time, longer than before. Then, at last, we heard her knocking and lifted the helmet to hear her news. There she was... and there behind her were three faces that 2 and I hadn't seen in months. We had no idea how she had done it, but she had found 5 and the twins. We had never expected to see them again._

_It didn't matter; they were with us again, and they scurried under the helmet beside the brothers they didn't even know they had. Once again, 7 told us to follow her, and we started off. However, we hadn't gone very far before 2 brought us all to a screeching halt, exclaiming that 5 was missing, and then scrambling away without waiting for input from anyone else. Their absence was quite fine with me—2 was a bossy older brother, and 5 had been annoying. Instead of waiting, I convinced the others to move forward; when the children started to fuss, I quickly assured them that the others would catch up soon and made them forge on._

_Then 7 returned early to tell us that her scouted path had been blown to pieces, and that she would have to reroute us. Of course she noticed that her father and brother were gone, and demanded to know where they were. My insisting they would return did nothing to keep her from running back to find them, threatening me with pain if I tried to move the group forward without them. There was no moving forward without her, anyway. So I kept us halted in the middle of the road, with gunfire raging overhead and bombs crashing into the ground around us. It was ridiculous, but it was better than losing our scout completely, I supposed._

_Finally, they emerged from the gathering dust, all alive. But only 2 and 7 walked upright; they dragged 5 between them, unconscious, half his face blown away by something man-made. The exposed wires sparked weakly, their power and usefulness ebbing away. It was horrifying to look at; everyone gasped in alarm, and the twins' small eyes went so wide. I don't recall them ever speaking again after that moment._

_But the look on her face, that pretty face that never failed to make us all weak in the knees... She looked me dead in the eye with a piercing look that seemed to say, how could you do this? They trusted you, and you left them to die! How dare you?_

_She would never trust me again. _

_But there was no more time to stand still and argue about it. We all crowded under the helmet once more, our scout now needed as a medic, and moved on. Finally, it was all up to me. I had awaited this moment all my short life; sweet as it was, it left a bitter tang in the back of my mouth. Still, I wouldn't have traded it for anything. Through a bullet hole, I could clearly see in the near distance one of the few buildings that hadn't been leveled: a church, featuring a fallen plane crashed through its roof. _

_He had said that churches were unimportant to people anymore. It would be empty of humans, and therefore not a major target for the war machines. We would be safe there, surely._

_As we ran down the block toward the church, we found ourselves surrounded by thick green fog. It spilled through the bullet hole, blinding my view, and it seeped in from underneath, around our feet and up all around us. Soon the whole helmet was full of the green gas, chocking everything in its path but the eight of us. We appear to breathe the air, but we really don't; why this is so, I could never say. The poison was destroying everything that relied on the air for life. So, its attempts to choke us were wasted._

_Soon, we were inside and safe. Our little group was in as much chaos as the foolish humans outside. We were frightened and weak, some of us in pain. We needed a leader. No one else could have done it in that moment. It was up to me, once again..._

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1 explained the more condensed version of the story, and 9 followed along in silence. Shocked but attentive silence. That boded well. As his tale drew to a close, he took a red tipped match and lit it in the furnace.

"I led us here, to Sanctuary," he continued, leading 9 among the relics on the wall, "and here, we waited for the war to end. Slowly, the world became silent. The only thing that remains now is the Beast." He shone the firelight against an incredible penned ink sketch of the feral thing, one of the last things 6 had drawn before he had gone completely crazy. It was just as terrifying as the real thing, a constant reminder of the danger that waited just outside the sturdy walls.

"So," 1 concluded as the match faded and went out, "we stay hidden, and wait for it, too, to sleep."

The entire story seemed to have answered all of 9's questions; for half a moment, he looked satisfied. But then...

"But where did it come from?" He asked. "Why is it hunting us?"

"Questions like that are pointless," 1 informed solidly, walking back to the calendar page. "We need to protect ourselves, keep ourselves out of danger. Too many of us have already been lost." On that note, using the burnt end of the match, he crossed off Saturday the second for all to see.

"But he isn't lost," 9 insisted. 1 brushed him off with an indifferent scoff, not entirely sad to be the bearer of disappointment, and certain that he had officially dropped the topic. However, 9 stormed right after him and caught him by the shoulder.

"Why aren't you listening to me?" He demanded, taking on a familiar tone of voice that made 1's eye twitch involuntarily.

"2 chose his own path!" He snapped back, making 9 back down a little. Lowering his voice, he added, "I'd suggest you avoid making the same mistake."

9 would have certainly countered, except that 5 suddenly jumped in, holding him back by the shoulders, silently imploring them not to fight. Dissipating fights was one of his only useful skills, but he wasn't that good at it. The only reason he succeeded was because 1 was so rattled.

_This is impossible! _He thought, his mind reeling, though he didn't let it show._ It is absolutely impossible that this clueless little mite could be so much like 2! I suddenly feel as if the pest never left. He only just appeared, but he's so strong-willed. Since I've seen him, he's asked at least three questions that he has no business asking. And now he dares to argue with me, and even touch my person! Who is he?_

He didn't want to be anywhere near 9 anymore. Next thing, he would start to feel guilty about what he had done today. Was this his punishment for all but murdering his brother? Just looking at these boys made the bitter taste of karma all the worse.

"Go to the watchtower," he said to 5, "and take our _guest_ with you."

_I don't want him here,_ he thought as he stalked back to his throne._ Because I can be merciful, I will allow him to stay here for a day or two, until he figures himself out. But after that, he's leaving—whether on his own or not._

He sank back into his throne, feeling exhausted by the day's events. It wasn't even noon yet. Something creeped up his spine, saying that this day was merely getting started. But he dismissed it. With 2 finally gone, this world was his, and his alone. He wasn't letting that go easily.

_Don't you so much as think of challenging me, boy. I've already plotted and executed one murder today, and it went too perfectly; I'm not above doing it again._


	6. Day's End

More accidental synchronicity to wrap things up? If it hadn't been for 8 being the pain I knew he would be, 7 wouldn't have been the conclusion she turned out to be. I spent _THREE MONTHS_ working on this one-two of them spent in abyssal writer's blocking, only writing in sentence-long bursts at a time. After that, I barely wanted to look at anything I had stored under _Other Eyes_ ever again.

At any rate, her's is the most beloved installation. It also spans a bunch of the bigger gaps at the end of the film, and many smaller gopher holes in that area as well. This is defs the longest and most intense installation.

Today, there is a Harry Potter reference near the end, ala the combined efforts of 7 and 1. This is one of the trickiest references I've employed, especially since it's out of one of the movies, not the books. If anyone can actually find it on their own, I might have to send them a cash prize. :/

Also-WALL IMAGERY! Another stroke of genius that hit me on the 17 hour drive to Missouri. I spent a good bit of that drive meditating on this device and how best to use it to 7's advantage. It's just... It's so good... I still can't quite believe that this is MY work, and not the work of some old world master wordsmith. 8D

As stated in the summary, ignore the fact that there is no chapter for 8 after this. Curse the cinderblock... 0.o

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_Day's End_

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It was far beyond the inside of enough for 7. The only brother she had left was trapped on the other side of the ravine, in the clutches of a monster, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to save him. She had failed as a warrior. She'd may as well hurtle her spear and sparrow skull helmet down into the ravine, after her brother's body, where they belonged together: dead, useless, and un-retrievable.

She'd may as well throw her hope, her spirit, and her very self away, along with everything else. She had come out of this last close encounter with the Machine pathetically unscathed, free of injury or harm, but she was in so much pain inside. She had already watched her father and both of her brothers die before her very eyes—if the Machine was going to come after the rest of them, she didn't want to watch it take the twins, or 9, or even 1. She would have rather gone first, just be spared watching the rest of them die too.

No, wait… 3 and 4. They were still alive and whole, if not as wracked as badly as she was. There was no time to feel so sorry for herself, not when they needed her strength and protection more than ever. They all needed each other now. There were only five of them left.

And they were relatively safe from the Machine. The mechanical catastrophe was trapped against the ravine wall in what was left of the old bridge; they were standing on the opposite ledge, decidedly and triumphantly above it. 1 came and stood beside them, and glared down victoriously at the Machine. It had taken three of their number in the space of an hour—so? The rest of them had survived.

But the Machine was very well aware that it had not completely won this round. It turned its monstrous red eye up at them with a furious scream. It saw them, registered how they were tantalizingly beyond its grasp, and visibly simmered with rage. The four it had taken weren't enough. It wanted the rest of them. From the one who had unintentionally woken it, to the children who didn't fully understand how they had gotten involved, it wanted them all dead.

_Now, dammit._

"It _must_ be destroyed."

7 had never thought it possible; but, for the first time in her life, she felt inclined to agree with 1. Yes, it was weird; yes, it didn't take into account anything that 6 had just screamed at the top of his lungs; but what did any if that matter?

"No," 9 countered. "We can't destroy it; didn't you hear him? They're trapped inside. We can still save them."

7 was taken aback. How could he say something like that?

"What? How?" she demanded.

"We have to find the Source. It holds the answers."

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. Why on earth would he choose to listen 6 instead of them? But, surely, if 9 was willing to listen to _him_, he would listen to her. He would be disappointed, but…

"We _have_ to destroy it," she insisted gently.

"But there's still a chance!"

Below them, as they stood around bickering, the Machine was wasting no time in trying to free itself. Its movements were limited, tangled in the metal cables that bound it, but it was wriggling free, all the same. Soon, it would be out and after them again.

"We're out of time," 1 pointed out.

It felt wrong to agree with him _again_, but 7 had her children and their safety to look to. If they stayed where they were, or wasted their time any longer, they would be sitting ducks.

_9 is so hurt by this, I know,_ she thought. _And I understand, more than any of us; can't he see how hurt _I_ am? Didn't he say before, if we're together, we'll be safe? He needs us now… And I need him, too. I don't want to keep doing this on my own. He's been such a good leader; he _has_ to wake up, or we're going to die! How bluntly can I put it—they are _gone_, and there is no way we can get them back!_

_Hey… That is pretty blunt._

"9, they're _gone_."

Instead of snapping out of it like she had hoped, he gave her a stony look and backed away.

"You're wrong," he said solidly. Without waiting for her to argue, he turned around and ran off.

She couldn't believe what had just happened. What _had_ just happened? She called after him, but he didn't even stop to acknowledge her—he just kept running. She started after him, but a cold metal hand caught her by the shoulder.

"Let him go," 1 advised. "Let him be."

Oh no. No, no, no. He had left them alone with the very scourge she had run away from in the first place. Maybe 1 was stable and sane, but there was _no_ way in hell she was going to let him be in charge of her or her children again. She pushed him off and stormed away.

"Not because _you_ say so," she growled over her shoulder. One hand busy carrying her spear, she snatched 4 by the hand and hauled her away, knowing her brother would follow his twin, anyway. She led them away as quickly as she could in a different direction, hoping against hope that 1 would just give up and go in the opposite direction.

She wasn't even sure where she was going. As long as it was away from where they were, she didn't care. As long as she only had herself and her fairly obedient children to keep alive, she really didn't care anymore. As long as she had been abandoned _again_, left alone with a monster to deal with _again_, it didn't matter. She was going to be just fine, thank you! She had _been_ just fine for all this time without anyone else to help her! She did _not_ need 9—in fact, if she ever saw him again, she intended to slap him in the face.

_I hate him!_ She thought for at least the fifth time, feeling invisible tears jerking their way to the surface. She felt weak and dizzy, but she refused to let it show now. She just continued to forge ahead, trying to focus on getting the twins as far away as possible as quickly as possible.

But she hadn't dragged them more than a few yards before 4 came to a sudden halt and 3 grabbed her other arm, forcing her to a complete stop.

"_7, stop this!"_ 4 pleaded. _"You're hurting us, and you're hurting yourself, too! Just stop it!"_

"If we don't keep moving, that thing is going to come after us, and it will _kill_ us!"

"_You don't know that,"_ 3 countered sharply. _"9 has a plan! It'll work!"_

7 felt something snap yet again, at the very mention of his name and his utter folly. Her brain and body partially shut off and her emotions took control, so she could barely see herself rip her helmet off and throw it to one side, then grab 3 by his shoulders and shake him hard.

"9 is _not_ coming back!" she screamed at him. "He's lost his mind, and he's left us! He's not coming back, do you understand me!"

The rage subsided as quickly and suddenly as it had risen, only to be replaced to total despair at her own words. It felt like everything had run up and punched her in the stomach: her father and brothers were dead, the monster that killed them was still alive, the man she thought she loved had betrayed her, and she was hurting the children she was supposed to be protecting.

Enough was enough. Suddenly weary and feeling smashed to pieces, she fell to her knees and began to cry yet again. There was absolutely nothing else she felt capable of.

"I can't do this on my own! I want him back!" she wailed, not entirely sure how she felt anymore.

The twins didn't bother thinking about her fickleness. They knelt beside her and hugged her as tight as they could.

"_You've still got __us__, mama,"_ 4 pointed out, starting to sob a little.

"_You can lean on us, instead,"_ 3 suggested, already in tears.

7 hugged them back and cuddled them close, wondering, in spite of her overwhelming misery, how and when the twins had become so brave and strong. She was suddenly so proud of them, and it cut through everything else she felt like a ray of sunlight through thick, dark clouds. But it wasn't enough to get them back up. They all needed to rest. They all just needed to sit down and cry for a while, and there was no way to fight it.

Enough was _certainly_ enough. 7 wasn't even sure how much time passed as the three of them sat in the middle of the road, sobbing uncontrollably into each other's shoulders. After a while, though, she pulled herself together enough to sit back a little and look at them for a moment. At some point, 3's hood had fallen back—most likely when she had shaken him, she admitted. He looked strange without it; almost grown up, like the rest of them. But his lip still quivered pathetically, and he still looked frightened. He was only a little boy, after all.

How had they become so willingly involved? Was _no one_ to be spared? They were only children; they were all she had left. But they weren't worried, as long as they had their mother; as far as they were concerned, they were invincible while she stood between them and mortal danger. She wished that she possessed such faith in something.

"What are going to do now…?" she wondered.

"_Maybe, if we just keep walking…"_ 4 mused shakily. _"Maybe there's something out there somewhere."_

"_Maybe he knew where it was; maybe that's he left, to find it for us,"_ 3 added, looking around like he suddenly hoped something had changed around them. _"Maybe he's found it already, and he's coming back for us?"_

7 sighed again. "3, you've got to stop this," she insisted sternly. "I mean what I said—9 isn't coming back."

"_But he __must__ be coming back. We know it. He wouldn't just leave us here like this; he cares too much."_

"If he cares so much, _why _didhe just leave us here like this?" she demanded, struggling to keep herself together.

"_He's trying to do something good for us,7,"_ 4 insisted earnestly. _"He's got a plan, even if we don't know what it is, and it's going to work. Why can't you just let him do what he has to do?"_

"I think he's lost his mind…"

"_He __hasn't__ lost his mind, mama. He's coming back."_

"How do you know that?"

"_We just do. We can tell. He loves you. He loves you so much! He'll always come back for you."_

7 didn't know what to say to that. She had noticed little things, but tried, out of pride not to think about it much. 9 cared about all of them—even 1, to an extent… But, from the very start, his care for her had been very different. She had tried not to think about it, when there was work to be done. But maybe it just needed to be said.

"_And don't even __try__ to say you don't love him, too,"_ 3 added seriously.

Her pride was already so battered. It had been like a pane of glass, clear and easy to see through, but allowing nothing beyond it. Now that it had been smashed to pieces, maybe that was why everything could get to her now. She suddenly got it. She had had a feeling all along that she loved him; it was the only thing that logically explained why she was so at war with herself. But she had refused to admit it, even to herself. Why? Why had she wasted all that time, only to arrive here and admit how she felt too late?

Now she was alone, and he was gone; and he would never hear her say that she loved him. It was simply too late. She stared at the dusty, gray ground, feeling too ridiculous to look her sweet children in the eye any longer.

"I wish he would come back…" she whispered. "I _wish_ he would come back…"

There were footsteps beside them. 7 looked up and was sort of surprised to see 1 again, standing solid above them. He was carrying her helmet by the beak, holding it out to her.

Where on earth had _he_ come from?

"Get up, 7," he said gravely, but almost gently. "We need you."

Maybe he got it, too. Their five was now four. They were the only adults. He had given her time to vent, but it was over now. It was time to get back on her feet and be a grown woman again. Feeling lighter and oddly rested in spite of everything, she rose to her feet and took her helmet back, placing it back on her head and flipping it back over her face in a single graceful sweep of her arm. She felt guarded and stoic again, the way she preferred to be. No one could read her face this way.

"…Do you have any ideas?" she asked.

"I might… Nothing _he_ couldn't have come up with," 1 grumbled. He could have been talking about any of the lost ones, really.

"Well, what did you have in mind?"

"They were always so keen on dabbling with human technology; maybe now is the time that I tried my hand at it. We're pretty close to the battle lines," 1 explained, indicating the landscape around them. It was war-torn and desolate, barbed wire fences standing dilapidated along old trenches filled with bleached bones and bullet shells.

There was also a huge metal tank turned over nearby, which 1 drew their attention specifically to.

"I may know something about how those things work. Perhaps we can use it."

"You would do that?"

"We don't have much of a choice, do we?"

That was true enough, she supposed. It was just so strange to hear it from 1.

"You are aware, of course, the children will have to help us," he added.

7 hesitated; whatever happened next, she didn't want them to end up staring down a gun barrel. They were only _children_, for God's sake. She looked back down at them, wondering what they thought of this.

"_We're not scared,"_ 3 informed her plainly. _"We're ready to go."_

4 nodded earnestly with a tiny but hopeful smile. _"We're happy to help._"

Alright, then. 7 still didn't like it, but they were all right. What else could be done? And they had been so much help and so brave already. And… they would probably be hurt or even killed anyway. She'd may as well let them try to defend themselves. She hated being useless; she wouldn't ask it of the twins now.

"…Let's do it, then."

2222222222

The hike to the tank didn't take them long; but, with the Machine somewhere behind them where they couldn't see, it felt longer to 7. Every second they spent walking was another second the thing had to pull itself up out of the ravine, and another second they still had next to no idea what they were doing. They were out in the open and hopelessly vulnerable, and it drove her mad.

Their short journey passed in relative silence. Periodically, as if sensing her unease, 1 would look over at her and say, "Keep calm." At first, 7 had no idea why he should care so much now. However, she slowly realized that he had good reason to. She was the strongest and the best fighter of the group. And, aside from ruling herself, she was also in charge of the twins; they may be following 1 and his scrap of a plan, but she was in charge of everyone else. She was practically the leader of the whole party.

1 needed her, and he knew it. And he needed her strong enough to stand on her own feet, all by herself. If she was in pieces, there was no way he could do the rest on his own. It would have cheered her most of all to think that, perhaps, he was really, truly concerned about her mental state; but he didn't have enough time or space in his own head to feel for anyone but himself. He never had.

When they finally reached the tank, they all stopped in its hulking shadow and looked it over. It was in better shape than the cars in the suburban area of the city, mostly intact, with little rust. Much of its ammunition—huge bullets, about as big as the twins, but at least three times their weight—lay strewn around on the ground. The tank itself had been flipped over on its side, its long cannon aimed into the thick clouds like an elephant's trunk poised in perpetual salute. Like everything else, it looked alien and strange.

No more so than themselves, they supposed.

After a moment, 1 marched right up to the thing and started to climb into what was once the tank's cockpit. Turned on its side, it was a much shorter climb for them all. Standing on the amazingly intact control panel, he looked at what he had to work with. The control panel was adorned with three levers and a circular hand crank poised above them.

"This should work just fine," he said at last, pointing at the biggest lever. "This one should fire, I think," he mused, and walked to the side a little. Pointing up at the hand crank, he continued, "This will help us aim the cannon; if you turn the crank, I'll stay up here and tell you how much to turn it. That should work out just fine, I think…"

7 still didn't like the uncertainty, but at least it was something.

"How do _you_ know all of this?" she asked.

1 rolled his eyes. "You can't live in a building with 2 for so many years without absorbing something or another. I really never expected any of it to ever be useful."

7 sighed to herself. Was she the only one who hadn't managed to absorb some sort of technical _something_? Even the twins knew how to build things, from hours of watching 2 doing it. Why couldn't she remember anything he had done well enough to copy him like mere children could? Luckily, her helmet made the perfect mask; no one could see the annoyed scowl on her face.

"_Where do we go?"_ 3 suddenly asked.

"_What do we do?"_ 4 finished.

"I'm not sure…" 1 answered vaguely, looking around the tank. It was a whole _tank_. Surely, there was something the children could do by themselves. While he thought about it, 7 walked up to her assigned post, the large steel hand crank. She still had no idea how it was supposed to help anything—especially with 1 giving her directions—and she wasn't even sure if she could turn the thing on her own. She set her hand on the crank handle and held it tightly; her hand didn't even reach halfway around it.

"Try it," 1 suddenly insisted. "See if it works."

He kept reading her so well. How was he doing that? Were her feelings really _that_ obvious? All the same, 7 braced herself against the crank and gave it a great push. At first it refused to budge; instead of letting it discourage her, she let it refuel the fire that had dwindled so badly in the last few hours. She braced herself again and pushed even harder, until it felt like her feet were sinking into the metal beneath them. Slowly, with an agonized creaking, the crank began to give way under her grip. As it inched forward, she finally felt strong again. The more the crank was turned, the more easily it was moved. Within minutes, it was turning smoothly again.

For the following hour and a half, 1 continued to appraise the tank, babbling about its finer points, though mostly to himself. After instructing 7 to keep turning the crank for a very long time, he had finally figured that the cannon's aim was adjusted by a single degree per turn of the crank. Listening to him using basic math to deduce this was amazing and strange; he seemed to be figuring out exactly what he was doing.

At least someone knew what he was doing. For herself, 7 knew that she was to stand and turn the crank until 1 told her to stop. The rest of it, she made little attempt to understand; it may as well have been written in Greek. If she stopped to try and work through it all, it would only distract and frustrate her. She had been built to fight, not particularly to read, or form calculations in her head. But it put her at the mercy of others, and it bothered her deeply. Not for the first time, she mentally spat on the name of their creator, and cursed his nearsightedness. She had only known him briefly; but in that time, he had seemed busy and rushed. Certainly concerned about the beings he had created, but too busy to pay them that much attention, at the same time. His impatience had cost all of them a great deal, in her opinion. If he hadn't been in such a hurry and had taken time to design them a little better, they might not have had all the dysfunctional personality issues they had grappled with for so long.

Then, maybe, some of them might still be alive.

_He could have at least given me a chance to understand _something_ beyond how to hit things,_ she thought spitefully. _I've lived in a library for three years, with children who sometimes read medical texts for fun, and I can barely read. The only useful things I can build are weapons and a few pieces of armor—tools for battle and destruction, not the peace and construction I've always longed for. If there wasn't any conflict for me to deal with, what would I do with myself? It's like he made sure that my only real purpose was to be a wall. Walls stand tall and strong. Walls defend; they keep you safe. They keep you inside. They aren't supposed to understand anything, they're only meant to stand and take blows. A wall that falls isn't much of a wall, now is it? _

_I hate walls. I prefer to be out in the open and free; but walls are confining, even when they offer shelter. And I've built walls around myself, until I couldn't even allow the truth in. I despise walls, and I despise being one for everyone else, when no one can be bothered to be one for me._

She looked up and scanned the horizon on all the sides she could see. It had been hours, and dark clouds had rolled in over the city, blocking the red sun that had risen. 9 was somewhere in the ruins, most likely alive and on another apparent suicide mission, but he hadn't come back. Despite how crazy he had sounded earlier, she really wished that he would. He hadn't always been the brightest or the smoothest, but he, too, had been like a wall. Years of war and turmoil may have beaten her down, but 9 had defended them while she hadn't been there to do it herself.

He had risked his life twice for hers. When the monster had taken her, no one else would have dared pursue; to do so had been so ridiculously dangerous, thinking about it made her want to laugh out loud. But 9 had come. He had gone inside that terrifying factory all by himself to save her. And the light stick—his own cleverly crafted tool that she couldn't imagine him without… He had lost it, allowed it to be smashed to pieces and destroyed, before he let her be lost and destroyed. What else could have made him do all of this for her, if not love? And all that her selfish pride had allowed her to do in return was say thank you. A heartfelt thank you, perhaps; but just _thank you_, and nothing more. He deserved so much more from her.

_I should have just told him the truth,_ she thought. _I should have said something about love when I still had the chance. And now, who knows if I'll see him again?_

As they usually did, the twins skittered up out of nowhere and settled cautiously on either side of her, wary of her obvious mood. A while ago, 1 had assigned them the task of loading the cannon, a simple task that they could accomplish by themselves, and just as important as any other post they had. They had spent the past hour or so collecting the ammunition scattered over the ground, rolling the huge barrels into a pile closer to where they would be loaded. They seemed tired from their hard work, but proud and not altogether scared of what would happen next.

"_I think we're ready for just about anything,"_ 3 commented. _"Look at all the hard work we've done."_

"_I'll bet we can do it,"_ 4 added with a confident sigh that gave no hint of a voice. _"With this close contact and all, I'll bet we'll smash the Machine to smithereens this time. It's not getting away from us!"_

"There's only the four of us now," 7 pointed out.

"_I dunno; we've done pretty good, so far,"_ 3 countered, unwilling to let his spirits sink for the coming battle.

"_And there __are__ five of us. 9 is still somewhere, you know,"_ 4 insisted. Her flickering seemed just a little aggravated.

"It seems like forever since he left. How do you know he's still coming back?"

"'_Cause you're __here__. He has to come back for you."_

"What about the two of you?"

The twins shrugged together.

"_It's you he cares about, I think,"_ 3 answered. _"Me and 4 are just an awesome bonus."_

"_4 and __I__, you mean."_

"_Yeah, that, sis."_

"_And it's not that we're a bonus, silly. 9 loves us all. 7's just special."_

"Can we _please_ stop talking about this now?"

"_Sorry,_" they chorused. Exasperated and tired, they sat down and just stayed still. It was rare to see them so still; but there was little else to be done. Somewhere behind them, they could still hear the Machine struggling to free itself. Its monstrous metallic howling echoed eerily over the land like the roaring of a hungry lion. How much progress it had made in the hours that had passed was unclear. What was clear was that they, themselves had made a lot of progress. Whenever it came, they would be ready.

_What's taking it so long? _She wondered._ The thing was trapped good, sure; but I thought it would have freed itself by now. Any one of us would have been out in half the time its been. I thought it was supposed to be smart..._

Then, as if it had read her mind and was insulted that she would question its genius, the Machine exploded out of the ravine in all its wicked glory. It flexed its great, metal arms, glad to be free at last. With its grinding, whirling growl, it began to scan the immediate area for its prey. On either side of her, the twins begn to shake with fear; for herself, 7 just barely kept from screaming out loud.

"To your places, all of you! It's time to fight!"

Once again, 1 appeared out of nowhere with the reigns fully and tightly in hand. Not thinking or saying much more about it, the twins skittered off to their pile of bullets. 7 climbed up on the dashboard beside 1, and they watched through the glass target as the Machine loomed closer, searching for another life to gobble up.

"I'd give anything to be able to run away..." 1 lamented quietly. "But he was right. Running and hiding is no longer an option. Perhaps... Perhaps I should have listened to him in the first place."

_Damn straight, you should have listened to him, you stupid idiot,_ 7 thought furiously.

"We're all afraid," she said instead. "Even now, running seems so much easier. I just want them to be safe..."

"None of us are safe anywhere; not until that thing is destroyed."

"The twins think that 9 will come back and help us, but I don't see how they could believe that."

"I'm afraid I must agree with you for once. Even if the boy was onto something, there's little left for him to return to. We may all be gone, ourselves, by the time he returns—if he returns at all."

Well, that was a cheery thought...

"It could take it a while to find us if we keep quiet like this," she pointed out, "but we have to fire at it sometime. When we do—"

"I know, I know. We'll have do it quickly, in one or two shots. Once we fire, it will surely charge."

"What if we can't kill it that fast?"

1 was silent for a moment.

"...We _must_ kill it that fast. Otherwise, all four of us will surely perish. Stand at your post; it's almost in range. I'll tell you when to start turning the crank, and then when to stop. Then, when I say, fire the cannon. You remember which is the trigger?"

"Of course."

He nodded slowly, satisfied. "Go, then."

As she turned and walked to the crank, he added, "Don't allow your female heart to get in your way this time. You need your wits about you, as much as the rest of us do."

"What?"

"Don't think about anything but that crank and my directions," he warned. "Don't think about your father, your brothers, your children, or that accursed fool. Focus on the task at hand, and don't upset yourself."

7 scowled at him from behind her helmet; he couldn't see her face, but she got the feeling he knew, anyway. She hadn't been so upset before; now, with the loss of her family and the fate of her children hanging over her head, she suddenly felt very tense, and, yes, _very_ upset. As before, she braced herself and griped the handcrank tightly. She forced her conflicting emotions out of her mind, down her arms, into her hands and out through her fingers, into the metal crank to be pushed away. Her focus returned somewhat easily, and she awaited her instructions. Just within sight to her left, she could see that the twins had gotten the first of their bullets up to be loaded, and they were working together as quckly and quietly as they could to get it into the cannon. It was so heavy, it took both of them to push it into place, and it still looked difficult.

_"Almost done," _one of them flickered to her. Alas, even though their flickers registered as whole words in her head, they had no distinguishable voice to them. She delberately ignored 1's warning and thought proudly and lovingly of them for a long moment.

_This wasn't what I would have chosen for you two... But, in spite of everything, I am so proud of you, both._

"7, start turning the crank forward," 1 directed at last. "Five turns ought to do it."

Damnit, now she couldn't help but think of her brothers, now that it was on her mind. Saying a quick prayer for them all, she shoved her thoughts of them out of her mind and into the crank as she began to turn it.

_I'm doing this for them. I can't save them like a warrior should, but I can still avenge them._

As she counted the five turns, she heard the long cannon clanking as it lowered. She wished she could see whether the Machine could hear it too; she hoped that it couldn't hear over its own loud clanking and zapping growl. When she completed the turns, she paused and waited for her next direction. Almost at once, 1 looked over his shoulder at her.

"Is the cannon loaded?"

She looked to the twins, who both nodded.

"Yes, its ready."

"Fire it, quickly! It won't sit still for long."

7 hopped down from the crank and stood before the trigger. She put her arms around it and squeezed the safety as hard as she could until she felt it fall into place. With her remaining might and cordination, she pulled the whole thing forward, rewarded with a loud boom far before them. She almost couldn't believe it—the tank worked beautifully, and 1 had set it all up. She had never seen him be so useful before.

The bullet had certainly hit its target; ahead of them, the Machine was sourounded by a cloud of black and gray smoke, and sparks of hot debris fell around it like confetti. It looked confused and disoriented, its evil, all-seeing eye blinded by the explsion. However, it didn't appear to be badly damaged.

There was only one thing left in the world that could have attacked: Stitchpunks, attemptng to fight back. As predicted, it began to charge the tank. Luckily, it was still far from them, and it was too big and heavy to charge very fast.

"7, tell the twins to reload the cannon."

She looked up to see that they were about two steps ahead. Almost as soon as they had finished loading their first bullet, they had gone to get the next one. They were already loading it.

"Its being loaded," she answered.

"Three turns, then, the other way this time," he directed. "We can get two more shots in this way, if it doesn't speed up."

That was fairly good news. She turned the crank back up and pulled the trigger again, thrilled to hear the cannon blast echo over the battlefeild, and the epicness of the bullet's impact with its target. It made her feel great, so powerful and big. No wonder humans had loved using guns so much.

Still, the impact hadn't done much. That was aggravating and terrifying. Above her, the twins already had a new bullet halfway into the cannon. They only had one more shot if they were lucky, and they would have to be quick and careful about it. 1 was just about to give her directions, when—

"I now know the truth!"

No, it couldn't be... could it? She looked up, and her heart lept for joy. 9 had returned, whole and safe. Where he had been all this time and what truth he had found didn't matter to her. He was back! And it sounded like he really had somehing that could help them now_._

_I'm sure to hear it from 3 and 4 later, _she thought as 9 came sprinting across the rocky ground toward them, and right up to her.

"Its the scientist," he said gravely. "He gave us his soul—_we are him."_

...Souls? 7 raised her helmet to see him better, so that he could see the look of confusion and wonder on her face. She had heard of souls before; all she really knew of them was that humans had posessed them, and that they had a lot of intrensic value somehow. But they sounded special and important. Even if she had no idea what a soul was, she had always secretly hoped that she had one. To hear it now... She still didn't know what it meant; but she could feel, deep in her very core, with a sense she didn't know that she had, that this was hugely important.

How this would help them destroy the Machine still wasn't clear, though. Which was bad, because it was practically on top of them now.

"There's no time!" 1 exclaimed. "We have to do it now!" Startled, the twins picked up where they had left off in loading the cannon, and the bullet slipped into place.

"No!" 9 yelled back. "You'll destroy the talisman!"

7 had no idea what that was supposed to mean, or what it had to do with souls or their foolish creator. But, as random as he sounded right now, her shattered pride allowed her to let go and trust him. He had been right about things in the past, been able to see things the rest of them were oblivious to. The twins were probably right: 9 had a plan, even if none of them could see the big picture. But, before she could say anything, the terrible shadow of the Machine loomed over them and screamed triumphantly.

"Its too late," 1 insisted, jumping down from the target in a mix of panic and fury. While 7 hesitated, he grabbed hold of the trigger and pulled down on it so hard he fell off the dashboard, clinging to the handle. The bullet exploded directly into the Machine's metal frame with enough force to completely halt it in its tracks.

Wonder of wonders, the thing suddenly fell over, top heavy from the loss of a limb. The blast had knocked one of its supporting arms from its socket. Finally, they had hurt it, if only enough so they could make an escape. They all jumped down from the tank and ran as fast as they could, before the Machine pulled itself together. However, using one of its many remaining arms, it reached out and snatched up the whole tank in its monsterous claw, chucking it after them. The huge thing landed with an earth-shaking thud in the soft ground, just missing them, but cutting off their escape. The five of them skidded to a stop just in time; being in the lead now, 9 led them in a different direction, toward the shelter of a trench tunnel.

All of a sudden, he as the leader again. And, shockingly, 1 didn't seem to have a problem with this. Mostly, he seemed exhausted, and perhaps frustrated that his only attempt at a plan hadn't fully worked.

_He must feel like a failure... Like I do._

Inside the tunnel, it was dark and dank. And the exit had been boarded up. A box of rusting amunition sat nearby, with a long row of bullets hanging over the side, forming a crude but ready-made shelter. 9 lead them under the the tent of bullets, relatively safe for now. As soon as they were together, he knelt on the ground and began drawing in the dirt. 7 knelt beside him, prepared to hear him out and take his directions.

"Its the talisman," he explained as he drew the familiar symbols once again. "It controls the Machine—it can be used against it. I'll lure it to me, and then you'll have a chance."

7's heart stopped. He couldn't be serious. He was talking about using _himself _for live bait! While the rest of them did... _what?_

"9, no! Don't do this! What if you're wrong—"

"I'll show you how to use it," he interrupted calmly. "It'll be okay."

How could he be so calm? So resigned? She wanted to scream and cry again, and demamd why he had to be so foolish all the time. However, she forced down the urge to strangle him, and pulled her attention back to the details of his terrble plan.

"While its distracted with me, you'll have to run up and take the Source. It gets weak when it uses it, have you noticed?"

"I suppose... 9, you don't have to do this to yourself. We can think of another way—"

"There is no other way. I have to do this, and I need your help. Just listen to me," he insisted, finshing his drawing. "When you have it, you'll have to activate it quickly; the Machine won't be able to hurt you with it anymore, but it will still come after you and try to get it back. No matter what's happened to me, you can't hesitate, 7—you _must _do it as soon as you have it."

No matter what? That was going to be hard...

"How does it work?"

"You press the buttons," he answered, indicating his drawing. "This is the sequence," he explained, pointing to the symbols. The sequence went clockwise, easy to remember.

_I'm in charge of this. I can do this... How can I do this? How can I just let him run headlong into his own death? Is there nothing I can say to change his mind? _She thought frantically.

_I don't want to lose him too... I love him. I love him so much! I should say something, while he's still here._

Before she could say anything, the metallic, thunderous roar blasted into the tunnel like a hurricane. It was time to run again. As they dashed from their shelter and headed for the exit, 7 glanced over her shoulder; the horrible, monsterous eye of the Machine loomed in the entrance way, but the rest of it was too big to pursue them. Satisfied that they had a little time, she ran with them to the boards that blocked their way. As they began to climb through the gaps to freedom and safety, a surge of heat hit them all in the back—another cruel trick the Machine posessed. Flames rampaged down the tunnel, igniting any flamable thing they touched, including the box of loose amunition.

They were only halfway out when the explosion sent them flying, each in a different direction, along with hot shrapnel and splinters. 7 smacked into a wooden fence post and fell to the ground, her whole body aching and her head spinning from the impact. As the world spun around her, she felt and heard rather than saw the twins skitter to her side and shake her.

_"Oh no! Mama, are you okay?"_

"_You have to get up! Its coming back!"_

_"Come on, you have to get up!"_

_"Get up, mama, __please__ get up!"_

Her head was still spinning, so that all her limbs felt like noodles. But her sight was beginning to clear, at last, and she could feel her strength slowly returning. With the twins on either side of her, she looked around for the others. 9 had landed in an equally sore heap a few yards away, and seemed to be pulling himself together much faster. She couldn't see 1 anymore, but suddenly hoped he was alright. Ahead of them, the Machine loomed clumsily after them, hindered by its broken arm, and barbed wire that had tangled around it.

While it was a safe distance away, 9 jumped to his feet and stood solidly in its path, between it and the rest of them. Seeing this, 7 felt her senses suddenly go sharp and her strength replenish once again. She leaped up and sprang to his side, gripping his arm fearfully.

"No! Please!" She pleaded, her voice cracking painfully in her throat. "We can't do this without you!"

_Why are you doing this? Why are you doing this?_

Instead of backing down, her looked her resolutely in the eye and took her hand in his own.

"They all died because of me," he said, firmly but unendingly apologetic. "I started this, and now I have to finish it."

That was the bravest and most manly thing she had ever heard in her life. He was such a hero. It was painful and so unfair, but she understood. Who else among them had any business finishing this horrible fight? For a long moment, he paused and just looked at her, savoring the sight of her face one last time.

_You're doing this for me, _she realized at last._ You've already done so much for me, and now you would even give up your own life for mine, just so I can have a chance to survive. No one has ever loved me so much..._

Once again, she didn't get the chance to say it out loud. He dashed away from her, right up to the Machine as it finally caught up to them. Seeing one of its prey run right up to it, it halted in its tracks and stared him down, rumbling with grim satisfaction. The twins skittered up beside her, shaking with fear and sadness.

_"You still have to get it and kill it, right?" _3 asked nervously.

"...Yes."

4 clutchrd her arm and burried her face in the back of her shoulder. _"He was the best papa we could have asked for," _she flicker-sobbed as the Machine powered down as it always did.

7 couldn't watch this, and she wouldn't let them, either. She pulled them close, hiding their faces against her body, and wrenched her head away as the thing powered back up. Her eyes closed, she could hear the crackling of violent, malevolent energy; she choked back tears of her own, trying to steel herself fo the final task ahead.

_I must do this. For all of them. For him._

Her concentration was broken by a heartbroken scream, and she opened her eyes to a gim sight. 9 was alive, pushed to the ground out of the Machine's path. Someone else had taken his place—the last one of them they ever would have expected.

_1... After all this time? After all that's happened?_

The small window of time had been opened. Not waiting for 7 to jump into her assigned task, 9 leaped up and jumped at the paralyzed Machine, tugging the talisam from its setting. In its usual moment of weakness, as it finished its ghastly work, the Machine swayed as it regained consciousness, and the talisman broke free. 9 fell back on the ground, the Source firmly in hand.

The Machine realized at once what had just happened and scramed furiously, its whole metal body bristlng with static electricity, brighter than they had ever seen before. The Source, the wellspring of its power, stolen by the same diminutive _lifeform _that had dared to wake it in the first place—it seemed to infuriate the monster more than anything else. Its remaining claws raised menacingly over its head, it charged after its lost power.

But 9 knew how to use the Source as well, and he had it now. He quickly punched the buttons and held the small device in front of him like a sheild, aimed directly at the monster's glowing red eye. Before it could get any closer, a tremendous bolt of green-colored energy exploded from the Source and hit the Machine square in its eye like a bolt of lightning. It tried to pull away from the massive energy, but it was held in place, unable to escape, like a fly in a spider's web, as the lost ones had been when it had taken them. Even as 7 revelled in the irony and bitter justice of it all, she couldn't help but feel that the bolt of green energy was... familiar somehow. Like she had seen it somewhere before, impossibly long ago, maybe before she was even alive. As the Source drained the Machine's artifcal life away, it pulled several larger waves of energy out with it. She counted six, in all: five for the fallen, and a final one for the Machine, itself.

She thought with a heartpang of her poor, insane little brother, who had somehow known all of this from the start and had tried so mamy times to warn them. How 6 had come to know all this in the first place would forever be a mystery, now; but oh, how she wished she had paid him the same attention that 9 had all along.

As the last wave of energy—the very life of the Machine itself—was yanked out and drawn back into the Source, the green bolt receeded, and the monster fell back, looking stunned. The glowing red of its eye faded to empty black, and the sound it its inner workings stilled. A dull rumbling rose up from within, followed by a blast that split the empty metal carcass at its seams, sending sparks and smoke spilling out into the sky.

It was dead. It was dead, and they were free. He was alive and safe, with the rest of them.

But it wasn't over yet. Empty and top-heavy, the enormous shell of the Machine pitched forward, and 9 had yet to get out of its way. He turned and ran as the shell came crashing down after him, faster then he could run, and 7 felt her heart stop again. She moved to run to him, to help him, to do _anything _but just stand there and watch him be crushed. But the twins caught her by either arm and held her back; there was nothing she could do without being killed, herself, and it made her sick with nerves.

With a sickening crash, the shell hit the ground, sending dirt and dust flying up in a dense cloud. He was gone.

After everything she had seen, 7 couldn't believe that he could _really _be gone so easily. She broke away from the twins and dashed into the wreckage, prompting them to run after her. Around them, the sandy-colored cloud was settling and everything was easier to see. But the sight of the mangled shell brought her no cheer. This victory suddenly meant nothing to her; not until she had found her 9 and brought him home. In any case.

At last, they found him, unconscious amid the wreck, weighed down to the ground by a scrap of heavy chain, and the all-important Source still held in a death grip. They all fell beside him and pushed the chain off, and 7 turned him over on his back. His eyes were closed, and he certainly wasn't breathing—none of them did at rest, and it was most unhelpful in this moment.

_Open your eyes, 9—__please__ open your eyes! You can't do his to me now! _

All at once, his eyes flickered open, bright and clear as ever. He looked a little confused, but pleasantly surprised to see the faces of his remaining friends, smiling relieved above him. With a little help from 7, he slowly sat up and looked at her with wonder, as if unable to believe he was still with her. Deep in her core, she felt her last wall—her defensively guarded personal space—come crumbling down. She threw her arms around him and held him close, feeling overwhelmingly proud of him.

"You did it," she said triumphantly, sitting back to look at him. But he shook his head gently.

"No, I didn't," he answered, looking back down at the Source, where the souls of their friends were held safe, but still captive.

"...Not yet."

2222222222

The journey back into the familiar streets of the city took more than an hour. They were all tired, but this was the second time today that 9 had made this round trip, and it wasn't three o'clock yet. When the twins grew too weary to travel on their own, he even picked 4 up and carried her the rest of the way. Given all of this, even carrying her exhausted son on her back, 7 didn't complain.

At last they arrived back where they had all started—the townhouse where their creator had lived and died. The last time 7 had been there, local men had been fightng a battle against war machines in the middle of the street, practically on the house's front step, and the scientst had all but thrown his creations out to fend for themselves. Her brother and her children hadn't been with them; she hadn't even been fully aware that they had exsisted. That had been a very bad day, and one that she had successfully blocked out of her memory for many years.

However, standing in the shadow of the ruined house, the memory didn't sting like she thought it would. Torn apart by war, it was inoffensive and pathetic. In fact, it didn't even conjure up the bad old memories they had associated with the place for so long. Instead, the things that came to mind were the simpler, happier first few days of her life. She had opened her eyes to a kindheatered father and a goofy younger brother who had loved her dearly. She had picked up a weapon for the first time, crafted her first spear and learned to aim it. She remembered the backyard, where the birds sat in the trees and on the back wall, singing their conversations to each other.

She had always loved birds; she felt like she understood them, somehow. The need for new sights and new adventures, the need for freedom and room to spread one's wings, the sudden urge to sing every now and again... When she had realized that the gas had killed the birds just as easily as every other living thing in the city, she had cared enough to weep for every single one of them—where nobody could see, of course. Strangley, standing before the house once again and feeling all these things didn't make her feel as sad as she had expected. Strangely enough, it made her feel like smiling a little.

"We always swore that we'd never come back to this place," she mentioned ruefully. "What's left for us here?"

"Rest," 9 answered with a sigh. "You should sleep, 7. It's been a long day."

"For me? What about you?"

"There are still things I need to do."

"_Still_? Haven't you done enough for one day?"

He eyed her quizzically. "Now look who's asking the questions."

Huh. That was a funny thing, still not understanding a thing that was going on, but bothering to ask questions. She supposed she had picked it up from him. Grateful and tired in spite of herself, she followed him through a hole in the brick wall, into the dark, dusty, ruined living room. This place hadn't been so terrible, either. It had looked better before the walls had been blasted away, and the few things within blown to pieces as well. The warped wooden floor was covered in splinters, scraps of fabric and pillow stuffing, and years of dirt and dust. It actually made her sad to see her birthplace reduced to this.

Finding a piece of pillow stuffing big enough for both of them, they carfully laid the sleeping twins down. Still asleep, they instincively cuddled closer together and kept dreaming. 7 wondered what they might be dreaming of, and hoped that, whatever it was, it was pleasant. As relecuctant as she was to leave 9 alone, she didn't have the strength left to resist when he took her by her hands and helped her to the floor beside them.

"I'll be right outside," he said quietly. "But for now, you just rest."

As he stood to leave, she held him back, her grip tighter than she thought possible.

"Don't go. Stay with me."

He smiled gently with a sigh, unable to say no; still holding her hand, he sat down beside her. She felt a wave of calm come over her to have him so close and secure, at last. She hadn't felt so safe since she had lived here, in this house, with her father to protect her; she never wanted this feeling of peace to end. It allowed her mind to finally drift off to sleep; she felt words she had no control over slip from her mouth, and she didn't mind anymore.

"Please, never leave me again."

"I couldn't if I had to."

"I would follow you. I would do anything. Just _never _leave me."

"Never send me away. I'll be here. I promise."

For the first time in years, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

2222222222

It must have been hours that she slept. She was awoken in the deepening light by someone gently poking her shoulder, and opened her eyes to 3 hoovering over her.

_"Oh, good! We were scared you were dead."_

7 sat up, feeling much better, and looked around the room. The twins were both awake and seemed like they had been for a while—typical, she supposed. But she couldn't see 9 around, it suddenly filled her with worry.

_"He's been outside the whole time," _3 supplied, seeing her concern._ "But we can't really tell what he's doing."_

_"Building something, it looks like," _4 continued from their makeshift bed._ "We woke up a while ago and offered to help, but he said he had to do it by himself. He told us to go back inside and look after you, so we did."_

_"See? We __told__ you he loves you."_

Yes, they certainly had. She slowly stood up and looked to the hole in the wall they had entered from. Relief came over her again to see him easily from where she was. But what he had built was harder to see. It looked like a small bonfire, at the center of five points, like a star. Each point was marked by a pole, and each pole had a cloth banner hung on it.

Once again, as if reading her mind, 4 answered her unspoken question right away.

_"He said he didn't really understand it either, at first. He said it just came to him, like a vision, and he just had to do it."_

_"It's got something to do with that Source, and souls and stuff. We wish he would let us help—all he was doing was drawing lines in the ground when we woke up, and it didn't look that hard. But he really wanted to do it alone."_

_"I think he was thinking hard about things, and maybe needed to be alone for a while. Maybe that means he'll be less moody when he's done."_

"Done with what, exactly?"

This time, they just answered with that unhelpful shrug, reserved only for when they had no answers at all.

From what she could tell, all he was doing now was standing alone before the pyre he had constructed, gazing sadly at one of the banners, with the enigmatic talisman in hand. He looked lost and alone, entirely by choice, a willingly tortured soul. And she was entirely done with watching him do everything on his own, as if he deserved to take all the punishment by himself. He hadn't made all the mistakes. And, if he promised to be there for her, she intended to be there for him, too.

She moved toward the exit, feeling refreshed and fluid, like water gliding across the floor; without the need for an invitation, the twns skittered after her and into the late-afternoon light. Now the star became clearer. The banners bore the names of the fallen, and each stood at the end of a shallow trench, lined with broken twigs and splinters, branching out from the fire. It had been carefully and thoughtfully built, the points spaced perfectly apart, the trenches and poles all the exact same length, depth, and height. The only things allowed any character were the banners, torn from a scrap of burlap, as if 9 had taken from his own skin to make them. Not surprising, he stood silent, lost in his gloomy, guilty thoughts, before the banner labeled with 5's name.

_...Why, my dearest? Why do you insist on doing this to yourself?_

Hearing them approach, he looked up slowly, wordlessly. All of them could feel it in the air around them: 9 had set the stage for something magical, and words of any kind, for any reason, would be inapproriate. While they watched, wondering what would happen, he pressed the buttons of the Source in reverse. The device began to hum softly, growing louder with each new button.

When he pressed the last button, the whole small thing began to shake violently; 9 tried to hold onto it, but, as if it had a will of its own, it jumped away from him and landed on the ground. Its copper face burst open in three pieces, making all of them back away in alarm. A soft, ethereal green light radiated out of it, nothing like they had seen when the Machine had used it. Slowly, a large shape rose up out of the Source, into the fading sunlight.

7 could barely believe her eyes. It was 8—or had been 8, anyway. She supposed this was what his soul looked like; it was like looking at a negative photograph, with all his real colors replaced by tones of green. Startled, always intimidated by the giant, the twins skittered behind her for shelter.

But, instead of scowling menacingly at them like he had in life, his soul smiled thankfully. She smiled back, felling blessed to see him smile in kindness one more time. It had been so long...

_I remember when you were born,_ 7 thought lovingly._ You always insisted on being the wall; there was a time you wouldn't let me be one, and none of us knew why. You were my brother. And you were a good person. Who will follow you out of that thing...?_

The next soul to come forth was 6, and she wasn't altogther surprised. Of all the lost, he was the one she wanted to see the most. He had been so underestimated by everyone, even though he was the only one with any clue of what had been going on. What would he say to her, for having so little faith?

True to his good nature, he just grinned his goofy grin, any transgression she might have passed out of his mind. In fact, he waved at them. Overjoyed, the twins jumped out from behind her to wave back. She waved too, more contained than her children, marvelling at the souls of her brothers.

_I am so proud of you. Both of you._

They were suddenly so much more like their old selves, the way they had been in the beginning—before 6 had gone crazy, and before 8 had become so mean. 6 took 8 by the hand and led him to his place, beside his banner; wordlessly telling him to stay put, 6 continued alone to his own banner. Even now, he seemed to know exactly what was going on, even if the rest of them didn't understand.

_I had forgotten... You were brothers, too, just as easily as you were mine..._

2 appeared next, looking nothing if not relieved to see them alive. 7 just barely kept herself from leaping into his arms, like she had been unable to do before. What really kept her in place was 5, who came right on his father's heels. It had been strange and heartbreaking to see them parted so; seeing them reunited, even in death, brought her more comfort than anything else could.

Because he was already standing before his own banner, 5 didn't have to move. But 2 gave him a reasuring smile and strolled off to his own banner, observing everything around him, enjoying the world of the living one last time. It was just like him. Oddly, he didn't seem to have changed at all from the first time she had seen him.

_You were the only one of us who managed to remain constant and true. The rest of us have all changed so much, even the children. But you...You're exactly the same 2 that I saw when I opened my eyes for the first time._

There was only 1 left. When be emerged from the Source, he walked right up to 9 and looked him in the eye, as if trying to say something. Without a voice, he simply laid his hand on 9's shoulder, with an understanding and... apologetic look on his face.

_You've never asked forgiveness for anything in your life. And this man, of all people, will forgive you. I can forgive you, too. I can even be proud of you._

That said—or unsaid, merely understood—1 wandered off to his banner, looking to be at complete peace for the first time in his life.

Looking up, 7 noticed for the first time that the fire had made its way up the trenches, guided by the dry tinder that lined them. Now the flames began to devour the wooden poles, and the cloth banners. As the banners were consumed, the five souls began to rise in the air toward the sky, released and free at last. They all seemed more than happy to go... Except for always-frettful 5, who hesitently lingered for as long as he could, with them.

I don't want to leave you, his nervous expression said.

They had only just gotten him back; they didn't want him to leave, either. Of all the lost, he was the one they would collectively miss the most. Yet, as the last of his banner melted into ash, he suddenly didn't look so frightend, like he finally understood something. With a start, he was lifted up off the ground after the others; no longer afraid, he gladly soared after them.

_And 9... What do you think of all this?_ She wondered. Did he feel better about himself at all? Did he feel like the hero she saw? Or was he still trapped alone in his guilt? Whatever the answer, she came and stood beside him; unable to help herself, she took his hand in hers as they watched their family spiral up, up, up toward the gathering clouds.

"They're free, now," she whispered, resting her head and other hand on his shoulder. He leaned his had against hers, and gave her hand a gentle, grateful squeeze.

"Thank you," he whisperd back. To her surprise but deep joy, he laid a soft kiss on her forehead, between her eyes.

High above them, the five souls drifted into the clouds, beyond sight. All was suddenly still for a moment... Then lightning streaked through the clouds, followed by a roll of thunder that made them all jump. Something like quicksilver fell from the sky and landed with a muffled splash in the dirt, leaving a dark, wet dot where it fell. Several more drops fell around them, and 7 held out her hand to catch one. It had been so long, it took her a moment to remember. It was water. It was raining for the first time in years.

Just another thing that 9 had never seen before. He looked at her in wonder and she smiled knowingly, brushing a stray drop off her face. He would have questions about it later, she was certain. She would be glad to answer them all. Beside them, the twins were just as thrilled by the falling rain.

_"Its amazing! Look how pretty it is!"_

_"We never thought it would ever rain again! We've sure missed it."_

_"Now, maybe, things will start growing again, and life will return to this city."_

That was a lovely thought, but 7 knew that it would take time. She looked back to 9, wondering if he had any plans yet.

"What happens next?" She asked.

"I'm not sure, exactly. But this world is ours now," he said solidly, caressing her face. "It's what we make of it."

There were so many possibilities, and all the time in the world to find them all. And, as long as they were together, there was no reason to be scared or defensive. She felt like a bird, flying and completely free. Free enough to let go and lean a little closer to him.

"I love you."

He beamed like the sun, overjoyed to hear it. "I love you, too."

She had known it was true all along; but hearing it made her heart skip, and she didn't mind. She let him pull her close and press his lips against hers; and for a long, sweet, perfect moment, the whole world stood still. She suddenly felt like a part of her was complete.

No matter what came next, they would always have each other. She couldn't wait to get started.


End file.
